Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right But Three Rights Make A Left
by the0voice0from0above
Summary: AU:The beautiful Garrison Ballet School becomes home to a reckless bunch of misfits after the Colt Welding Academy is severely damaged in a fire and has to close for repairs. Needless to say, Castiel and his friends clash with their unwanted guests but there's one boy in particular who infuriates him. Warnings: bottom!subby!Castiel, top!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

_Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right But Three Rights Make A Left__  
_

_Summary: The beautiful Garrison Ballet School becomes home to a reckless bunch of misfits after the Colt Welding Academy is severely damaged in a fire and has to close for repairs. Needless to say, Castiel and his friends clash with their unwanted guests but there's one boy in particular who infuriates him._

_Notes: This story has been altered from when it was last posted._

_Warnings: Some homophobia, gratuitous sex, bad language, bottom Castiel, top Dean._

_Also available in PDF form. Send me a PM. _

* * *

Chapter 1

~...~

"Castiel!"

A red faced Ava Wilson, who burst through the door to his bedroom, looking flustered and much too animated for 6AM, leapt over to his window sill and squeaked excitedly. "Look! Come here quickly!"

Castiel squinted at her blurry shape and rolled over. "Ava, it is six o'clock," he mumbled into his mattress. "I have a four hour dance class followed by rehearsal in an hour's time. If nothing short of the apocalypse is happening then please leave."

"Classes have been cancelled! Can you believe it? And it's all thanks to the guys from the Welding Academy."

At first Castiel didn't register what she said. It was midway through her incomprehensible babble about a welcoming party and whether they should have maroon napkins or beige that he bolted up right and exclaimed, "What?!"

Ava rolled her eyes. "The Colt Welding Academy? They had a fire, remember? Jeez, Castiel, it was all over the news."

"Yes, I know about the fire but what does that have to do with our classes being cancelled?"

"Well, Miss Moseley said we have to help our guests feel at home, you know, show them around and such."

Castiel's mouth dropped. "They're staying with us?"

"Yeah. I've just said that haven't I? Honestly, Castiel, are you always this slow in the morning?"

"But. . . but why would they come to Garrison? They're welding students! Don't they need something to...to," he waved a hand, "_weld_?" Castiel scrambled off his bed, tripped over his duvet and staggered to the window to see for himself. At the gravelled entrance to Garrison were more than a hundred boys – men, really - unloading luggage and walking inside. Although they were probably around Castiel's age, seventeen, they looked much older. And thuggish though he might have been biased.

"I thought that too but apparently there're some old workshops on the grounds," said Ava, peering outside too. "And since the underclassmen are in London at the moment I suppose we've got a lot of room to spare."

"_But they're welding students!_" insisted Castiel, already imagining the horrors of having greased up, ripped jean wearing, foul mouth spewing Neanderthals roaming the elegant halls of Garrison.

Ava chuckled. "They're not a different species, Castiel." She patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure they're house trained."

From the way some of them were openly scratching their crotches, Castiel begged to differ.

"Be still my beating heart," said Gabriel as he entered Castiel's bedroom and joined them at the window. "A truck full of sweating muscle heads. Yummy."

"Don't tell me you like them too," said Castiel.

"What's not to like?"

"Their IQ?" said Bela appearing in the doorway. She perched on Castiel's bed and studied her nails. "You should hear how they speak. They're like a bunch of hairless apes."

"Hey, who needs brains?!" said Gabriel. "Grease me up a welder and I'm on board."

Bela made a disgusted sound. "Anyway, Castiel, Anna needs you."

"For what?"

"As Head of House you're the one who has to show the gorillas around."

Castiel was clinging to the hope that he was still asleep and consequently dreaming when Ava grinned at him and ruffled his hair. "Have fun!" she sang.

~...~

Unfortunately, it wasn't all a horrible dream as Castiel hoped would be the case. The students from the Colt Welding Academy had indeed moved in and were staying for no less than a month. To make matters worse, he was Head of House which meant he had a duty to introduce himself and show their 'guests' around. Since there were two Heads of House, however, one for the boys and one for the girls, the task would be split into two, between him and Anna, which he was grateful for.

"I don't see why they have to stay here," muttered Castiel to Anna as they made their way down to the lower levels where the welding students were staying. He was more awake now that he had managed to grab a coffee and some toast. "Can't they sleep on the street? Or in the woods? I'm sure they'd be more comfortable there," and then added under his breath, "given it's their natural habitat."

Anna only smiled. "They won't be as bad as you think, Castiel."

"No," he grumbled, "they'll be worse."

"They might add a little spark to the place."

"It was 'a little spark' that decimated the Colt Welding Academy. I think we can do without it."

When they reached the dormitory, Castiel rapped on the door once, entered and was greeted with a booming, "I shit you not! The crapper roll has swans on it!"

"Fuck me, my ass is gonna think its royalty."

"Your ass already thinks its royalty. Get off my fucking Cheez-its, man!"

The once perfectly kept dormitory was now in such a state of disarray that a bomb could have exploded within it and no one would have known the difference. There were bags lying around, clothes spilling out of suitcases, underwear hanging from the chandelier, shoes scattered over the floor, a lamp had already been smashed and was lying in pieces on the carpet and the furniture had been moved to point towards a wide screen television that hadn't been there an hour ago.

Castiel's eyes narrowed and his teeth clamped together. He was one step shy of throwing punches and he didn't care that the majority of the boys were double his size; it would be worth the pain just to cause some damage.

Anna must have seen the resolution in his face because she patted him on the back gently and said to the room, "Um, hello, can I have your attention please?"

Everyone fell silent immediately and all eyes were on Anna.

"Well, hello," said a boy from the sofa, smirking. "And who might you be?"

Anna's cheeks pinked. "We're the heads of house. I'm Anna and this is Castiel. We're here to take you on a tour of the Academy and answer any questions you might have. Do you, um, do you have a Head?"

"I've got two heads baby," said the cocky boy. "And you can see 'em both if you've got the time." The rest of the dormitory cheered, a few slapping him a high five.

"No. . . what I-"

"She wasn't talking about your dick," snapped Castiel. "She was talking about a Head of House."

"What the fuck is a head of house?" piped up another boy standing beside the fire.

"Do you have someone who is in charge?" asked Anna tentatively. Castiel couldn't understand why she was bothering to be polite. The only way to treat a bunch of animals was with a firm hand. Etiquette wasn't a language welders understood.

"Yeah," said someone else. "Winchester. He's upstairs."

"Hey, WINCHESTER!" yelled a student.

"Sup?" came another voice.

"Some hoity-toity Garrison gofers are here, man."

Castiel glared at the boy, briefly picturing the lamp to his right being hefted into his cocky face.

"One sec," Winchester called back. There was a thunder of footsteps, a boy emerged and as Castiel had thought before, he was more of a man than a teenager: toned body, strong arms, defined jaw, stubble and a tattoo on his chest. His dirty blonde hair was ruffled. He had plump lips, a straight nose and gorgeous eyes. The boy was beautiful and Castiel hated him all the more for it.

Winchester bounded down the last few steps, a necklace bouncing off his bare chest, and walked over to Castiel and Anna, holding out a hand.

"How's it going? I'm Dean," he said, taking Anna's hand and reaching for Castiel's who crossed his arms and ignored it. Dean's brows rose but he didn't comment, instead, tucked his hands into the pockets of his low slung jeans – the only item of clothing he was wearing. Castiel doubted he was even wearing underwear. An inexplicable bolt of excitement shot through him at that and he gritted his teeth.

"Hi, Dean, I'm Anna and this is Castiel. We're here to show your year around Garrison, if –"

"Perhaps you should get some clothes on first," said Castiel disdainfully.

Dean nodded. "You got a problem with me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't even know you," said Castiel. He couldn't help noticing that Dean's eyes were a soft green like sunlight on leaves. The fact that he hadnoticed at all aggravated him more than it should have. "But I'm sure I'll find a problem when I do."

"I'm sorry," interrupted Anna. "Castiel can be grumpy in the morning."

"Hey, it's no problem. I'd be a dick too if I had to sleep with a stick up my ass every night," said Dean.

"I would rather have a stick up my backside than a walnut for a brain," retorted Castiel.

"A walnut?" Dean's laugh was a bark. "Dude, you need better insults."

"Was it too complex for you? I'll use smaller words in future."

Dean shrugged. "Or you could just suck my dick."

The comment was so vulgar and unexpected that Castiel's face felt as though it was going to burst into flames from the rapid increase in heat. It wasn't as though it was even an intelligent comeback but Castiel was rendered speechless and made worse for the fact that he could picture it as clear as day, he could see himself on his knees, Dean moaning, urging him on and it wasn't an image he recoiled from. Castiel liked it and he was terrified that anyone would find out, be able to see it in his eyes. Then Dean smiled, slow and easy and it was like he already knew. Castiel wanted to hit him.

"Well," said Anna, clearing her throat, "do you think you could split your year up into two groups, Dean?"

"Sure," said Dean, smirking, eyes still on Castiel. The welder turned around and snatched a bag of M&Ms from the sofa, thumbing them into his mouth one by one. "Alright, listen up," he commanded though it was unnecessary since everyone had been eavesdropping anyway, "half of you this side, half that side. We're taking a tour."

There was a universal groan. "Awh, come on, Winchester, we've just set up the Xbox."

"Sorry, man, it'll have to wait," replied Dean. "Move it."

With reluctance they all complied and once they were separated into two groups and were standing still, or as still as it was possible for them to be, Castiel noticed that there were three girls mixed amongst them.

"Female welders," murmured Castiel.

"They must be able to handle themselves with all those boys," commented Anna.

"Nah," said Dean, still munching on M&Ms. "They've just got balls the size of coconuts." He grinned at Castiel and winked. "Thought you'd like that analogy. You know, since you like nuts so much."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I'm amazed you even know what 'analogy' means."

"It has the word 'anal' in it," said Dean as if that explained everything. He sucked a piece of chocolate from his thumb, full lips enveloping the digit before they tilted into a permanent and infuriatingly attractive smirk. "You know what anal is, right?"

Another mental image burned through Castiel's mind like a branding iron pressed into flesh. Heat pooled, in his chest and his groin. He opened his mouth to throw out an insult but was interrupted by Anna.

"Um, shall we move this along?" she said, tugging at her sleeve uncomfortably. "How about . . . Dean, you come with me and –"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm going with Castiel," corrected Dean.

"No, you're not," said Castiel.

"You're not being very welcoming," said the welder. "Show me some. . . hospitality." Only Dean, a boy he had known for all of two minutes, could make the word hospitality sound like a sexual innuendo.

Castiel's face set like concrete. "The only—"

"It's only a tour, Castiel," said Anna, eyes pleading. "You'll be finished within the hour."

If it wasn't for the fact that Anna would be in trouble too if he wasn't gracious to their guests, then he would have point blank refused. He wasn't stupid. A tour with Dean and his gang wasn't going to be as easy as Anna was making it out to be but she was his friend, he couldn't abandon her, and the quicker he got through the day, the quicker things would return to normal and normality was all he wanted.

And yet, as Castiel looked into Dean's amused, satirical green eyes, something inside of him knew that wasn't quite true.

~...~

His friends fell silent when Castiel walked into the common room at quarter past five and sat down in one of the soft armchairs beside the fire, a contemplative look on his face. He had spent the morning running – yes, running – after a welding student named Roy who had stolen a priceless Ming vase. Castiel had got it back. It was safely behind the glass screen of the second floor display cabinet. He'd had to run through the fountain to catch him and was soaking wet from head to toe for all his efforts but he looked a sight better than Roy who had lost his tooth when he tried to leap a hedge and face planted the concrete path after getting his foot caught in a twist of branches. It seemed compliments to the groundskeeper for lack of care and attention to the hedges were in order.

Castiel could feel the eyes of his classmates on him. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and ran a thumb back and forth over his lips. "If you had to hide a body," he said slowly, "where would the most prudent place to bury it be?" He glanced up from the fire. "Theoretically."

"Uhh... you planning on killing someone anytime soon, Castiel?" asked Ava.

"I can help with the killing," said Bela, "granted I get to choose the weapon."

"I guess you're talking about the welder guys?" said Adam who was sitting cross legged on the floor with a pen between his teeth and a textbook in front of him.

"Who else would it be?" said Bela

"They're not so bad," reasoned Adam. "A bit loud maybe..."

"Not so bad? They've been here a day and already I can't stand them."

Adam shrugged. "Yeah but you hated them before they even got here."

"Bela hates everyone," said Gabriel who had just arrived dressed in his dancewear – white t-shirt, black tights and white socks – to throw himself down on the sofa. "What're you talking about anyway? Who hates who?"

Brow furrowed, Castiel sat up. "Why are you wearing your dance clothes, I thought there were no classes today?"

"I figured showing off the shape of my juicy ass might entice one of the welder boys to spank it," said Gabriel with a shrug.

"Doubtful," said Adam, snorting. "Those guys are so straight they make a ruler look bent."

"Just need to add some heat, baby. Then there'll be rulers bending all over Garrison."

"Optimistic."

"Is my middle name," sang Gabriel. "So what's the deal? Who does Bela hate?"

"Your welder boys, actually," said Adam.

"They appear to have revealed Castiel and Bela's sociopathic tendencies," drawled Balthazar.

"Sounds sexy." Gabriel tilted his head back so he was looking at Castiel upside down. "If you go to prison can I visit? I can be your heartbroken boyfriend on the outside, desperate for attention and sexual gratification. I'll even push my nipple up to the glass separator when I go to see you, just so you know it hasn't been tweaked recently."

"Do you actually listen to the words that come out of your mouth?" asked Adam.

"Sure I do, I have a beautiful voice. It's like angels singing."

"Off key..." muttered Adam and Castiel chuckled. They shared a look, a small affectionate smile that reached the eyes, a look that Castiel had seen many times in the past, and it made his heart skip. Adam was straight, according to him, but sometimes Castiel got the impression that there was a little more to those secret looks than he was letting on. If Adam wasn't gay then he was certainly curious. He was handsome and well built and Castiel would pursue him if he didn't fall in love so easily. But he did therefore he knew it wasn't worth the effort or heartache.

"That's not what I heard anyway," Ava cut in, chewing on her thumb nail.

"Excuse me?" said Balthazar.

"The Colton welders," she said, "they're not all straight."

"Thank you, Jesus!" exclaimed Gabriel. "Who bats for the other team?!"

"How did you even find out?" asked Adam.

"I heard them talking to Dean. Saying things like," Ava attempted a deep, gruff voice, "Gonna get yourself a dancing boy, Winchester? And Dean said, hope so."

Thankfully, Castiel's small gasp was unheard against Gabriel's, "Dean?! Fuck, he's the sexiest out of all of them!"

"Which one is Dean?" asked Bela.

"He's the Head of House for the Colt welders," explained Castiel. "He's . . . blonde," he muttered and couldn't hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. He didn't add that he both wanted to shove his tongue down Dean's throat and punch him in the face.

"Dean's a really nice guy," said Ava, "and definitely the most polite. He helped me carry all those boxes to the ball room."

Castiel's heart sank at the reminder of the welcoming party which would commence at 8PM. There would be teachers there too so the welding students wouldn't get too out of hand but Castiel wasn't in the mood for socialising, especially after the day he'd had. He would only have to make an appearance though, just to keep his friends happy, and then he could leave.

~...~

"You look lovely, Castiel," said Anna, when he walked down the stairs into the common room where his classmates were waiting for him. He was wearing a deep blue slim fitting shirt and jeans. Probably the most casual outfit he had ever worn for a special occasion since starting Garrison.

"Thank you, so do you," he replied sincerely, appreciating her simple black dress and heels. Anna smiled and took his arm.

"Can we go now?" pleaded Ava. "Before Gabriel decides to change again."

"Hey, hey, no judgey! I have to get it right if I want to bed Dean," said Gabriel.

"So you settled on a pair of jeans which..." Balthazar looked him up and down, "leave absolutely nothing to the imagination?"

"Hells yeah! Dean isn't gonna know what hit him."

Adam slapped him on the back. "Truest words you've said all day, Gabe."

The ball room was devoid of decorations, much to Castiel's pleasure. It didn't need any tacky balloons or confetti to make it beautiful because it already was. Its high ceiling and subtle gold and silver patterned wallpaper were elegant, representing everything the Garrison Ballet School aimed to be. Tables with a vast spread of food had been laid out for them but the platters weren't placed on the typical collapsible kind found at cheap parties. They were solid, wooden and polished to shine. There were chairs and smaller tables for those who wanted to sit down and the music playing from the speakers (which had been dragged out of storage) was modern, most likely to please the welding students. Even at short notice Garrison knew how to throw a party.

"Wow. Crowded," said Adam, raising his voice to be heard over the music and chatter.

"Anyone getting some food?" asked Ava. She was so small she had to stand on her tip toes to see over the sea of students.

"This way," said Balthazar.

They barged their way through to the buffet and helped themselves to some food. Castiel had very little, choosing to stick to his original plan of staying at the party for no longer than good manners absolutely called for.

"Not hungry, Castiel?" said Anna.

"Not particularly." An infuriating part of him wanted to scan the crowd for Dean but he refused to do it. He could just picture the smirk Dean would have on his face if he spotted Castiel gawking at him.

"There's no point dieting, Castiel," said Gabriel, stabbing a half eaten sausage at him. "You're not going to get a body as hot as mine."

"Of course not," agreed Castiel.

'Sexy Back' by Justin Timberland began blasting from the speakers and the welders made a few surprised cheers when the ballet dancers shook their bodies to the beat. Garrison might have been stuffy and pompous in the eyes of the Colt students, but the fact remained that it was a dance school and Garrison students knew how to dance. Gabriel stuffed the rest of the sausage inside his open trap. "That's my cue. Don't forget to shout up if you see him," he called and disappeared into the crowd, shaking his ass as he went.

"See who?" asked Anna.

Castiel sighed. "Gabriel plans to woo Dean Winchester."

"Oh." She chuckled. "I suppose he knows Dean's gay?"

"You knew?"

Anna gave him a shrewd smile. "It was fairly obvious, Castiel."

Had it been? Castiel had been just as surprised as everyone else to discover Dean's sexual preferences. Someone as uncouth as Dean should have been homophobic. In fact, he had fully expected him to be.

"I don't think Gabriel will be too pleased that someone has already caught Dean's eye though," said Anna conversationally.

Castiel's tummy flipped. "Someone?"

"Mm," she replied. "You two have lots of chemistry."

"Me? And Dean?" exclaimed Castiel.

"You don't like him?"

"No! He's vulgar and rude and egotistical and –"

"Coming this way."

"What?"

Sliding through the crowd, looking astoundingly gorgeous was Dean, dressed in a white, partially unbuttoned shirt, which showed off his tan, and dark jeans. He grinned beatifically when he stood before Castiel who was staring at him, mouth open.

"No walnuts on the menu tonight. Gotta say, I'm a little disappointed," said Dean.

"I think I'll go for a dance," said Anna and left before Castiel could protest.

Dean was smiling at him now but it wasn't the smile he had given him before. It was sweet and open, a great deal softer than his usual smirk. The fact that it sent Castiel's heart racing, pounding against his ribcage, made him angry.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Dean's face fell and although Castiel felt a flicker of guilt for his rudeness, he didn't apologise.

"Look, Cas, I think we got off on the wrong foot –"

"Castiel," he corrected.

"What?"

"My name is Castiel."

Dean shrugged. "Too many syllables, man. Anyway, we got off on the wrong foot. I swear I'm a nice guy," he said, holding up his hands.

Castiel gave him an incredulous look. "You told me to suck your. . ." he blushed, "dick!"

"Well," Dean chuckled, "you still can if you – wait!" he called because Castiel was already walking away. "Wait, stop, Cas." Dean grabbed his arm to halt his progress through the dense crowd on the dance floor and because it was so tight, Castiel was pushed up against the welder. He could feel Dean's body heat and smell his cologne. It made Castiel want to take a deep, lengthy inhale and never let it go.

No! He refused to be attracted to someone like Dean Winchester! "What do you want?" snapped Castiel, trying futilely to put distance between them.

"Fuck, Cas, I'm trying to find a middle ground here!"

"Why?!" he shouted over the music.

Dean leaned in and Castiel tried to jerk away but there wasn't enough room and as soon as Dean's hand clamped over his hips there was no chance of escape. "Maybe I wanna be friends," he whispered into Castiel's ear, lips and hot breath brushing against his sensitive skin. "Maybe I wanna be more than that." Like the lull of a Siren, Dean's voice washed over him. Castiel's eyes slid closed, breaths falling quick. At some point his hands had come up between them to push Dean away and were resting on the welder's hard chest. The swell of his pecs and the heat of his body under the dancer's palms sent all blood in Castiel's system rushing south.

"I know you like me," breathed Dean. His hands were sliding lower, over the curve of Castiel's ass.

Then just as quickly as the song changed to "Barbie Girl" by Aqua, a switch flicked inside and Castiel came to his senses. All Dean wanted was a quick lay. He shoved the welder backwards. "No, I don't!" He tried to turn but Dean's hand landed on his shoulder and he spun Castiel around.

"Why do you hate me so damn much?!"

"Because you're an asshole!" snapped Castiel.

"And what the hell does that make you?!"

Hot anger was bubbling up inside him. He needed to leave. He needed space. He didn't like being so close to Dean. Castiel fought his way through the crowd and breathed his relief when he reached the door. The air was cool outside the ballroom and as he headed back to his dormitory, he was able to calm down. The harsh, painful, pounding of his heart was beginning to slow.

Dean was . . . infuriating. Just seeing his face made Castiel's heart pulse with anger. And though he hated to admit it, lust. Dean was good looking but that didn't give him the right to come on to Castiel like that! Did he simply assume that Castiel would want to sleep with him?!

Well, he had it all wrong.

Castiel didn't want him.

Castiel loathed him

Detested him.

And if Castiel marched upstairs to his bedroom, stripped his clothes off and climbed into bed with an aching erection? Then it was because he hadn't been laid in awhile . . . and that Dean was sexy.

He would concede that, yes, Dean was incredibly handsome but he was also a man whore and no smarter than a laboratory rat.

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest refusing to touch his dick. It was a matter of principle. He wasn't going to masturbate to someone like Dean Winchester.

No.

He refused.

But his traitorous mind continued to return to how Dean's body had felt against his and his lips against Castiel's ear and his voice, smooth and sexy.

Dean's hard, tanned body: how would it look laid bare for him?

Blood and heat continued to head south until Castiel was too hard to think of anything else but rubbing his cock. So he did and when he came hard, the pleasure was beautifully intense.

But he wasn't happy about it!

After his breathing had slowed, he pictured Dean again only this time it elicited a different reaction within him. "Asshole," growled Castiel, rolling over and glaring at the wall.

~...~


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

~...~

Over the next few days, things returned to normal. More or less. The welding students were unexpectedly focused when it came to their practical lessons and they were outside, in the outbuildings, which meant peace for the rest of Garrison. Castiel's painful school schedule was back on track too and by midday he was relieved to collapse onto one of the old leather sofas in the lunchroom. There was a dining hall which was much grander, with its individual place settings and solid oak tables, but Castiel found it too crowded. He liked to spend time on his own and the lunchroom on the third floor was perfect for that.

He bit into a pear and wafted his t-shirt which was glued to his chest with perspiration. Licking his lips his mind turned to rehearsals for the Christmas performance. They were tough at the best of times but the past few days had been hard going, even for Castiel who usually had a lot of stamina and a willingness to endure the aches and pains that came hand in hand with being a ballet dancer.

He chucked the last of his pear away, scrubbing the stickiness from his hands, and bent down to stretch his hamstrings. Some days Castiel thought he spent more time stretching than he did anything else.

"Woah!" said someone behind him.

No prizes given to Castiel for guessing whose voice that belonged to. . .

He expelled his frustration in one long exhale and returned to a standing position, turning to find Dean dressed in greasy overalls. Three glorious days without having to speak to Dean. He had been hoping to go the entire week, making it a record of sorts. But the welder's presence in Castiel's sanctuary had shot that hope down in flames.

"Dude... you can bend like all the way over. That's awesome," said Dean with apparently genuine awe.

Expecting a lewd comment to follow shortly after, Castiel gave him a look and headed for the door.

"Oh, come on, seriously? You can't even stay in the same room as me?" said Dean.

"No, I'm afraid your idiocy might be contagious," said Castiel as he slid past the welder to open the door. "Excuse me."

"You know," replied Dean, catching his hand against the handle. His skin was hot and rough and he was so close. So warm. "You're probably not a complete douche at heart but you're making it damn difficult to see past that."

Castiel looked up into his gorgeous green eyes – he wished he could give them another adjective but he couldn't, they were gorgeous and sexy and drew Castiel in like snake charmed a mouse - and with the height difference it made him feel dizzy. Why did it have to be Dean who made him feel that way? Dean, who was only after one thing. "Then why try?" replied Castiel, tearing his gaze away and pushing past him, out into the corridor.

"God!" Dean grated out, hot on his heels. "You're so -!"

"I'm so what?" Castiel threw over his shoulder. "Intelligent? Awe inspiring?"

"Annoying!"

"I believe you. Since you're such an expert in that field." His hand slipped over the silky, mahogany banister as he made his way downstairs. Didn't Dean have anything better to do with his time than harass him?

"You know what your problem is?" called Dean.

"No, but I imagine you're going to tell me," said Castiel. He could hear the other teenager stomping down the staircase in his mucky boots and he was dreading seeing the state of the carpet after Dean had trampled dirt all over it. That was the difference between them. In all likelihood, it hadn't entered the welder's thick skull that the rug he was imbedding with oil and grime cost more than his education.

Castiel hopped off the last step and was yanked to a halt and forced to turn around.

"You're judgemental," accused Dean, poking a finger at him. "You hated me the moment you laid eyes on me."

"Don't exaggerate, Dean, I hated you the moment you opened your mouth. There's a difference. Better to keep it closed in future and have people suspect you're a moron than open it and remove all doubt."

There was an audible click when Dean's teeth snapped together and Castiel smiled to hide the desperate urge to step back. Dean was bigger – both taller and wider. He could easily knock Castiel out in a single blow. That was more than enough incentive to stop talking. That was more than enough incentive to find Dean unattractive. Unfortunately, a correlation was beginning to form between interacting with Dean and Castiel's sexual desires and sassiness. He wasn't usually so disrespectful. "You're just aching to bury your fist into my face, aren't you?" asked the dancer in a tone that didn't sound nearly half as confident as he intended it to be.

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "I'm aching to bury something into you but it isn't my fist."

The penny didn't drop right away but when it did, Castiel flushed beet red. "And that's my point proven."

"What point?"

"That you're a vulgar, arrogant, reckless asshole with all the common sense and intellect of a –"

"Walnut?"

"Gerbil."

"Ah. . . thought we were still on walnuts."

"No."

Dean bobbed his head and when he didn't say anything, Castiel added, "Is that all? Can I leave now? Because you're taking up my lunch hour."

"No, that's not all. Believe it or not, I didn't find you just to be bitch slapped verbally."

"I don't slap," said Castiel. "I'm not a girl."

Dean muttered something along the lines of 'don't I know it' and rubbed the back of his neck in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. "Look, I know you hate my guts but. . ." He sighed. "I need a favour."

"A favour?" Castiel's eyes narrowed but he didn't immediately say 'no'. It could work to his advantage having Dean in his debt and if the welder had specifically sought Castiel out, he must have been desperate to get whatever it was he wanted.

"Yeah. . . uh, I've got a thing planned –"

"A thing?"

"I need access to the roof."

"What? No –"

"I've got permission!" he insisted. "Sort of. I'm allowed to have it for the night if at least one of the Heads of House is there."

Anna was away visiting family as she usually did on the run up to Christmas since she couldn't see them on the actual day which left Castiel to deal with things without her. He groaned internally. However tempting it was to have Dean in his debt he could only imagine how horrible it would be to spend a night trapped on the roof with Dean for whatever reason he needed it for. Probably a party.

"I'm busy."

"No, come on, please, Cas!"

"Why do you need to use the roof?"

"It's . . . for someone's birthday."

"A birthday? Who's?"

"Please, just do this for me, Cas," begged Dean. "I'll do anything. Anything you want."

'Promise to stay away from me,' was on the tip of his tongue, almost walked out of his mouth but Castiel changed his mind and decided to wait until there was something he definitely wanted from Dean before he used up his favour. Best to choose wisely.

"Fine," said Castiel. "I'll go. But I have some stipulations."

"Anything!" Dean was literally beaming at him. He was smiling so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled and Castiel, for the sole reason of having to stare at a thoroughly infectious happy face, found himself smiling back. Reluctantly.

"First," he held up a finger, "If you're planning on getting drunk up there then do so at your own risk because I have zero tolerance for projectile-vomiting students."

"Projectile. . .?"

"Second," interrupted Castiel, drawing up another digit. "The party ends no later than 2AM."

"Um –"

"Third, no sleeping with any of the Garrison ballet students!"

"Uh, Cas –"

"No, Dean! I mean it."

"Cas, I really don't think you have to worry about all that. It isn't a party," said Dean. "Not really."

Castiel squinted at him. "If you're planning on hiring strippers. . ."

Dean burst out laughing, his hand flying up in a placating manner. "Listen, I don't know what type of parties you have at Garrison but it's not like that."

"Then what 'type' of party is it?" demanded Castiel.

A slow, cheeky half smile curved Dean's lips as he said, "Trust me. You'll see. I'll meet you outside at seven." His eyes lowered to the dancer's torso and he tugged the hem of Castiel's damp t-shirt taut, then let go and as it snapped back, the cotton brushed against his nipples, sending a shiver through him. "Wear something blue," Dean murmured and left without another word.

~...~

"Let me get this straight. . . Dean invited you to a party and you're actually going?" said Ava. She was sitting cross-legged on his bed in a pink fluffy bathrobe patterned with red hearts. She had found him emptying the contents of his wardrobe in search of something to wear that wasn't blue which turned out to be a much greater challenge than he had originally thought.

He frowned at the single wire hanger dangling a greyish blue shirt. "Are all of my clothes blue?"

"You like blue. You look good in blue. Besides, it's laundry day. Didn't you send most of your other stuff to be cleaned?"

Castiel grimaced. "Yes. I forgot. And as I said before, Ava, I haven't been invited as a guest. I have to be there to supervise the party."

"Do mine ears deceive me?" Gabriel poked his head around the door, his eyes suspicious slits. "You've been invited to a party without me?!"

"Gabriel," sighed Castiel, "it isn't –"

"Dean invited him!" exclaimed Ava. "It's practically a date!"

"No, it –"

"A date?!" The door was thrown open so hard it gouged out a handle shaped hole in the wall.

They stared at the crater and then the pile of rubble on the floor.

"Gabriel!"

"I've got some super glue in my room. It'll be fine," he said waving a dismissive hand. "More importantly. . . you're dating my boyfriend?!"

Ava pulled a face. "Dean isn't your boyfriend."

"He could be."

"No, he couldn't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you're you."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Do you need a list?"

"It isn't a date!" interrupted Castiel, closing the doors to his wardrobe and turning to face them. "He requested that I supervise and that's what I'm going to do. That's all I am going to do."

Gabriel jumped onto the bed, bouncing Ava a foot in the air. "You mean you're not gonna try for any rumpy pumpy?"

"Castiel doesn't have rumpy pumpy," chuckled Ava. "Castiel has 'sexual intercourse'."

Gabriel smirked. "No, Castiel has 'coitus'."

Ava cracked up laughing. "Coitus?!"

"Or copulation."

"Are you finished?" said Castiel over Ava's cackling. "I need to find something to wear. Something that isn't blue."

"Why no blue?" asked Gabriel, leaning back against the headboard. "You look sexy in blue."

"Because Dean wants him to wear blue," said Ava, amusement still shinning in her eyes. "He's so into you, Castiel, and he's gorgeous. You have to go for it."

"But I'm not interested in him," said Castiel simply though it wasn't strictly true, more of a half truth. He found Dean attractive, very attractive, but that didn't mean he liked what was underneath his pretty face and the implications of actually sleeping with Dean could be disastrous.

"Now that's a lie if I ever saw one!" said Ava. "Dean is hot and really sweet, how could you not like him?"

"And your little guy hasn't had any fun for awhile. Gotta think of him, Castiel."

Ava's brows drew together. "His little guy?"

"His sausage," explained Gabriel.

"Gabriel. I do not have a sausage. I have a penis. I think even you can manage to say that."

"His sausage?!" Ava burst into more fits of laughter, gasping out, "Castiel's sausage needs some coital action," before rolling off the bed and landing on the floor, giggling.

Castiel sighed.

~...~

At five to seven, Castiel headed downstairs to the grand entryway to Garrison wearing a slim fitting black jumper, belonging to Gabriel, and jeans. He had decided to put on his trench coat at the last minute. According to Gabriel and Ava, the coat 'messed up the look' but Castiel didn't care, it was cold outside and his trench coat was like a comfort blanket. He was going to need it if he was dealing with Dean and his friends.

The main doors were ajar and through the gap Castiel could see Dean standing at the top of the steps on his own. He pushed one of the heavy doors open, stepping out into the night air, and closed it behind him. Silently, he moved to the welder's side.

"Hello, Dean."

"Jesus!" yelped Dean as though he had been electrocuted. Clutching at his heart, he breathed, "Cas. Yeah. Don't do that."

"Say hello? But I thought that was the term," said Castiel, hands in his pockets.

"Smart ass," chuckled Dean. He shoved his hands in his pockets to, mirroring Castiel, and kicked a stone, sending it shooting down the steps. "Didn't think you'd show."

Castiel wasn't sure what to make of that. "I said I would."

"Mm."

Surreptitiously, Castiel peeked at Dean. As usual he looked incredibly handsome. Dressed in an old leather jacket, shirt and ripped jeans. Castiel had never understood the concept of ripped jeans. Why buy damaged clothing?

Regardless, they looked good on Dean.

"He's here," said the welder suddenly.

Castiel's stomach dropped. Was it a boyfriend Dean was waiting for? It would make sense. The roof was a romantic setting and since the stars were so bright over Garrison, the view would be spectacular. But if that was the case, why would Dean ask Castiel to wear something blue? Why would Dean come on to him?

'Because he was a man whore,' supplied his mind. Of course. Dean probably had boyfriends all over the place. One in every city. At the thought of Dean in bed with someone else, a shockingly powerful wave of jealousy built in his chest and made him clench his fists inside his trench coat.

He followed Dean's gaze as the car made its way up the lengthy driveway and pulled to a stop in front of them. Dean jogged over to the passenger side and Castiel wanted to turn away from his obvious excitement.

The car door swung open and –

"Dean!"

"Sammy!" yelled Dean, snatching the little boy from the seat and cuddling him. "You alright? Have you brought your telescope?"

"Yep. And my star chart."

"Awesome."

A little boy?

"Hey, there's someone I want you to meet," said Dean, taking the child by the hand and leading him up the steps to Castiel. Of all the people to step out of the car, a little boy was last on Castiel's laundry list of possibilities. No older than five, the boy had floppy brown hair, dimples and hazel eyes.

He was adorable.

"Okay, Sam, this is Cas. Cas? This is Sam, my baby brother."

~...~


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

~...~

Watching the rough and ready Dean Winchester with his brother, setting up the telescope on the roof of Garrison, was. . . surreal. He had never expected Dean to have such a gentle, loving side – a huge contrast to the person Castiel thought he knew - and the fact that he did, left Castiel feeling wrong footed. He was stood against the railings with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat curiously watching the way the pair interacted. Dean was obviously a good brother because Sam worshipped him. The little boy would look up at Dean with excitement and admiration clear in his eyes and it made Castiel wonder why he hadn't seen it before. The kindness in Dean, the gentleness. Or maybe he had and he'd just ignored it. Maybe he hadn't wanted to see it. Like Dean had said, Castiel had immediately judged him. But who didn't judge when they were faced with something irregular? And Dean Winchester was irregular. He was rough and vulgar and arrogant and. . . caring.

Part of Castiel didn't want to see that side of him because lusting for Dean he could deal with, the strong attraction which his jealously had sprung from he could deal with, but nothing more than that. Castiel always gave his heart away without his mind's permission and he refused to give it to Dean Winchester, Dean, who wasn't safe or secure, who acted first and thought last. He doubted his heart would remain undamaged in the hands of someone like him. Better to keep his distance, to keep the same relationship they share now – an angry, ignorant one – than have his heart torn to shreds.

There was a beautiful blue hue on the horizon, melting into an inky black filled with stars and a glorious full moon. In the distance beyond the rolling grounds of Garrison the lights of the city were visible, casting out their own twinkling glow in the sea of darkness. The temperature had dropped far enough that Castiel's breath fell in small swirls of cloud.

"What about that star there? It's really bright!" said Sam excitedly, manoeuvring the telescope to point it towards the object of his interest.

"Uhh... that's... uh..." Dean squinted at the star map, tilting it this way and that, furiously trying to work out exactly what Sam was looking at. The sight made Castiel smile involuntarily. He beat it down though and looked up into the vast expanse of space to find the star Sam had pointed out. He recognised it straight away. "That isn't a star," said Castiel.

Sam and Dean turned to look at him. "It isn't?" they said in unison.

Castiel bit back another smile, forced his expression to remain neutral and moved to stand beside Dean's little brother. "Do you mean that one there?" he asked Sam, pointing towards the sky.

Sam's shiny eyes reflected the night, lips parted as he followed Castiel's finger. "Um, yeah, that's it. It isn't a star?"

"No. It's a planet," said Castiel. "That's Jupiter."

"A planet?!" gasped Sam and Castiel smiled.

In the corner of his eye he could see Dean watching him and it took a great amount of effort not to look. To give himself something to do, Castiel aimed the telescope exactly where Sam had been meaning to point it and checked the eyepiece to make sure Jupiter was clear. "Take a look," said Castiel.

Sam did and he gasped again. "Dean, you have to see this! It's really big! And it's got some dots around it. . ." He pulled back to squint up at Castiel. "What are those dots? Are they stars?"

Castiel took a quick look. "No, they're moons."

"It has four moons?!"

The bubbling enthusiasm in Sam's voice made it impossible for Castiel to keep a straight face. "Actually Jupiter has sixty seven moons but only four are visible through your telescope," he explained.

Sam blinked at him. "Woah . . ." he whispered and stared up at the sky again, the air so cold his cheeks were tinged pink. "It's just a tiny dot. . ." Sam murmured, lifting his gloved hand, closing one eye and pretending to hold Jupiter between his thumb and his forefinger. "But it's a whole planet."

"I guess sometimes. . ." began Dean, catching Castiel's gaze, "things aren't always what they seem."

The not too subtle comment aimed directly at Castiel, sparked a mixture of warmth and irritation that he didn't want. Dean's voice had been too intimate, too close, as though they were sharing a secret or a private joke. His words, whether it was intentional or not, were an olive branch, a request for a truce or even friendship, which Castiel rejected.

Castiel's eyes returned to the sky as he said, "No, but educated guesses are usually correct."

He didn't need to look around to know Dean was shaking his head in exasperation. It was out of character for Castiel to be so deliberately cruel and he felt guilty for it. Dean didn't deserve Castiel's hostility but it was the only way he could deal with his attraction before it got any worse and grew like a weed in his mind.

"C'mere, Sammy, I've got something for you," said Dean, crouching down to fish in his bag.

Sam frowned. "But. . . you don't have much money. I told you not to. . ."

"You're five," said Dean, looking impressed. "Five. That's like... 54 in dog years."

"35," corrected Sam and Castiel at the same time. The boy gave him a toothy smile which Castiel returned with fervour.

"Okay, Einsteins," muttered Dean.

"There was only one Albert Einstein," said Sam, holding up a miniature finger. "Not two."

"And I'm fairly sure he was a theoretical physicist not a ballet dancer or a five year old boy," said Castiel.

"But he did know a lot about maths!" added Sam proudly. "Like us!"

"Yes he did," agreed Castiel. "So I suppose you're not entirely wrong, Dean."

"Thank god," said Dean dryly.

Sam giggled, revealing his dimples, and tugged on Castiel's trench coat until he took the hint and crouched down so Sam could whisper loudly behind his hand. "I think he's mad."

"Hm, you might be right, Sam," said Castiel with a nod, watching Dean through amused eyes. Sam laughed again, his fingers still clutching at Castiel's coat.

"What? Are you two best friends now?" asked Dean.

Sam beamed. "Yep. I've got a new brother."

"That so?"

"Yep," Sam guffawed and the smile already on Castiel's face broadened. He felt light, happy, like his heart was a balloon and there was a chance it could float away.

"Well," Dean shrugged, "looks like I'll have to eat this entire chocolate cake all on my own. . ." He flipped open a white box to reveal a large, chocolaty dessert with 'Happy Birthday Sam' written in fancy script on the top.

Sam's mouth dropped open. "You bought me a cake!"

"Er. . . no," said Dean, "I bought me a cake. This is mine now remember?" He grinned impishly, rising to his feet and smelling the chocolate in such an exaggerated manner that Castiel had to laugh. "Mmmm. . ." sighed Dean. "All mine."

Sam ran over to his brother. "Dean, that's not fair!"

Impervious to Sam's attempts at reaching for the box, Dean held it high above his head. "Course it's fair, Sammy. You don't need me any more remember? You've got Cas. I'm sure he has a cake for you."

"I wasn't being serious!" insisted Sam.

"Sure you weren't," agreed Dean, swiping a finger over the icing and licking it. "Mmm, tastes real good."

"Dean!" huffed Sam.

"What's up, Sammy?" asked Dean innocently.

"Gimmie!"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

As entertaining as it was to watch Dean and Sam squabble, Castiel was firmly on Sam's team, so it seemed only right to try and help him retrieve the cake. Dean's eyes turned mischievous when he saw Castiel approach.

"Gonna try and get it off me, Cas?" asked Dean.

"I'm not going to try to do anything. There'll be no effort involved," he replied, closing the gap between them. They were standing almost nose to nose now. He could smell Dean's clean, warm scent; it stroked over his nerves and had his fingers twitching with the need to touch.

"You think you'll be able to get it that easily, huh?" murmured Dean.

"I think so." A tug in his belly urged him to lean forward. He was losing his grasp on what they were actually talking about. Dean was so close, his shoulders broad, his pupils large in the dim light

"In under a minute?" Dean hadn't moved an inch despite Castiel's closeness, a permanent smile etched on his face.

"Yes."

"Care to place a wager on that?"

Castiel paused. What had they been discussing? "A wager?" he repeated, snapping out of his trance and taking a step back.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Or is that stick too far up your ass to gamble?"

Castiel frowned. He resented that. Just because he liked to keep things tidy and didn't curse as much as Dean didn't make him a wet blanket. "What are the stakes?"

"Hmm," pondered Dean. His lips were twitching as though he was fighting back a grin. "If you can take this cake from me in under a minute . . . then I'll put on a pair of tights and a tutu and run the perimeter of Garrison."

Sam laughed, piercing the night air and Castiel abruptly realised they weren't alone. He had completely forgotten about the little boy who was standing beside the telescope chanting, "Do it! Do it!"

"Tempting." The possibility of humiliating Dean in such a way was too good an opportunity to miss but if Castiel lost the wager. . . "And if I lose?"

Finally the grin Dean had been holding back broke free. "And if you lose then you have to kiss me."

Castiel's stomach flipped.

"Eww," said Sam. "Couldn't you think of anything better, Dean?"

"What? I can't make Cas run around in a tutu and tights. He already does that on a daily basis." He leered at the dancer and winked. "Don'tcha, Cas?"

"I don't wear a tutu," muttered Castiel, flushing with heat and trying fruitlessly to ignore his steadily increasing heart rate. He was already anticipating the opportunity to touch Dean, to have an excuse to put his hands on him. How pathetic.

"Shame. . ." sighed Dean regrettably.

"Are we going to do this or not?" demanded Castiel.

"You're that desperate to kiss me, huh?"

"You shouldn't underestimate me."

"And you shouldn't underestimate how much I want to win," said Dean and the easy admission sent another jolt of pleasure through Castiel. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Dean pulled out a slim, silver phone. The device lit up his face and Castiel found himself staring at Dean's lips, wondering what it would be like to touch them with his own.

"Alright," said Dean, handing the phone over to his little brother. "Stop watch's ready. Press that when Cas moves, Sam. It'll beep after the minute is up. . .so. . ." he grinned wide and wolfish, holding the chocolate cake out, "in your own time, Cas."

There was a moment's hesitation before Castiel lunged at him and Dean skirted out of the way quickly and easily as if he was barely putting any effort in at all. He held the cake high, out of the way of Castiel's reach, laughing when Castiel jumped. To his surprise Dean didn't take advantage of the chance to grope him. He kept his free hand down by his side and only used it if he had to. Castiel, however, wasn't so noble. He couldn't help it. He wrapped his arms around Dean when he hid the cake behind his back, he pushed Dean in the chest, grabbed at his hand, squeezed at his waist, groped at his bicep. . . All in his attempt to reach the cake, of course.

And Dean was strong. It made Castiel's legs feel like jelly whenever the welder pushed him away easily with one hand. His stomach knotted and his heart raced.

"Ten seconds left," called Sam. "Ten. . ."

Castiel jumped for it again, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Nine. . ."

Then he fell back down again.

"Eight. . ."

His face was close to Dean's, cheek brushing cheek as he stretched. . .

"Seven. . ."

And he felt the softest kiss he had ever received touch his neck, just under his ear.

"Six. . ."

A tiny gasp escaped Castiel.

"Five. . ."

He pulled back to look at Dean, his breathing uneasy.

"Four. . ."

Dean was no longer smiling. "You want the cake, Cas?" he whispered, holding it out.

"Three. . ."

And Castiel knew he could take it if he wanted to. . .

"Two. . ."

But. . .

"One. . ."

_Beep!_

"That's it! Awh, man. Does that mean no tutu?" said Sam, pouting.

"No tutu, Sammy, sorry, but if you ask Cas I'm sure he can hook you up," said Dean.

"I don't want a tutu!"

"No, but I bet you want this cake though, don't you?" said Dean, his grin returning. As he crouched down with Sam, pulling spoons and bowls out of his bag, Castiel bit his lip.

"Dean. . .?" He cleared his throat. "What about –"

"You can owe me," replied Dean, over his shoulder.

Trying not to let his disappointment show, Castiel nodded, accepting the bowl and slice of cake with which Dean presented him, but as he tried to pull it out of the welder's hands, Dean held on tight until Castiel had to look up into his amused eyes. "Don't think I'm gonna forget though," he said. "You owe me a kiss. And I'll collect it when I want it."

Castiel grimaced but when Dean had his back to him again he allowed himself a small smile.

~...~


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

~...~

On an abnormally sunny Saturday morning Castiel was sitting under a weeping willow tree by the lake at the edge of Garrison grounds. There was an orchestra of bird song whistling cheerily around him, the winter breeze was gentle, calming, and absent of its usual bite. There wasn't a soul around. He was completely and utterly relaxed. He had brought a book out with him but found himself drifting off into daydreams while he stared out onto the rippling water which sparkled under the sun's gaze. Sometimes he enjoyed simply sitting and breathing in the outdoors.

The quiet -

"Over here! Toss it to me!"

- apparently never lasted.

Muttering nonsensical curse words under his breath his gaze snapped to the group of welders walking across the grounds towards him throwing a ball back and forth. Dean was at the front of the crew. Typical. Whenever Castiel even attempted to get some peace and quiet Dean was there to disrupt it as though he had a six sense for it.

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest and hoped they wouldn't see him under the heavy shade of the weeping willow.

They stopped some distance away and split up into two teams, playing a game Castiel didn't care to follow. Most of the boys were shirtless like it was in the middle of summer instead of winter and, although Castiel disliked all of them, he had to admit it wasn't a bad sight to behold. They put on quite a show. Lots of glistening, sweaty muscles and man handling. It was like watching soft core porn. Not that Castiel was familiar with pornography.

His eyes inevitably strayed to Dean who was by far the most attractive. He had a fluidity to his movements that was both beautiful and painfully sexy. Dean's face was flushed, his hair a mess like he had just finished a round of sex. Castiel found himself staring at Dean's ass for long time, imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on it while Dean fucked -

Castiel shook his head, disgusted with himself. When had his thoughts become so lewd? Probably the moment Dean had arrived at Garrison. He shouldn't be surprised. Dean was a bad influence.

However, even Castiel had to accept, rather grudgingly, that Dean had a soft side, a sweet side that had been wholly surprising. After the night on the roof top Castiel had awoken in the morning humiliated with how he had openly felt Dean up and not only had he wanted a kiss, he had almost asked for it.

Well, he had been able to sleep on it and now, in the broad light of day, Castiel realised he had just been caught up in the moment. Dean was sexy, he would grant him that, and his voice was. . . somewhat arousing but that was all! So Dean had a sensitive side, so he loved his brother. It didn't automatically mean that Dean was an angel or a saint in disguise. Certainly not. He was nothing special and given time Castiel would be proven right. Unfortunately, even as he attempted to hammer those words into the recesses of his mind there was a large part of him that didn't believe any of it. Watching Dean interact with Sam had irrevocably altered his perception of the welder and whether he liked it or not Dean had already started to burrow under his skin.

A football slapped the branches of the willow tree and rolled towards Castiel, stopping at his knee. Grimacing, Castiel pushed it away.

"Hey, Cas, throw the ball back, dude," called Dean, holding it hands up.

He refused to acknowledge how his pulse quickened pathetically because Dean had addressed him.

"No," said Castiel and picked up his book, pretending to read.

"C'mon, Cas!"

"It's Castiel, you troglodyte," he snapped and threw him a glare. When Dean didn't answer immediately, Castiel had an irrational fear that he had somehow upset him. He peeked up from under his eyelashes and found Dean smirking, still waiting a few yards away for the football.

"You sure you wanna try my patience, Cas?" asked Dean, grinning now.

Castiel mouth dropped open. A threat? Was Dean honestly threatening him? Castiel didn't take too kindly to being ordered around. He snapped his book shut along with his mouth and grabbed the ball.

"That's my boy!" laughed Dean. He nodded and held is hands open for it only Castiel didn't throw it to him. He turned instead towards the lake. "Don't you d–" And threw it in.

There were exclamations, curses and complaints from the rest of the welders as they all stared at the ball bobbing on the water a little offshore.

The dancer stifled a laugh and returned to his book.

"Don't worry," he heard Dean say, "I'll get it back."

Castiel perked up; Dean getting wet wasn't something he wanted to miss. But the welder didn't walk to the bank like he had expected, he headed over to Castiel where he stopped and looked down at him. There was a smile still on Dean's face and it made the dancer uneasy.

"What?" said Castiel snippily. If Dean was planning on cashing in the kiss he had won then he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Dean's smirk turned predatory. "Go fetch."

"As simplistic as your vocabulary is, Dean, I'm afraid you're going to have to elaborate."

"Fetch the football," he said confidently as though Castiel was actually going to do it. "Now."

Was he serious? Did he sincerely expect Castiel to retrieve the football like a trained hound? If Castiel had been a dog he would have growled, although he would have also humped Dean's leg too but that was beside the point. Castiel raised a brow. "I would be more inclined to voluntarily swim the perimeter of the lake naked than follow orders from you, Dean Winchester."

Nodding slowly, the welder pursed his lips in thought. "Naked, huh?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, assuming that would have been the end of it because what could Dean possibly do? He couldn't make him swim to the ball.

But then Castiel saw a mischievous twinkle in Dean's eyes and before he knew it, the welder had scooped Castiel off the ground and was striding towards the lake.

"Dean!" yelled Castiel, fighting for all he was worth but Dean was strong and held him tight. "Dean put me down!" he exclaimed. Dean carried him so easily. Castiel's heart was thundering in his chest. Dean's skin was hot. Too hot. Hot enough to burn. He could only imagine how good it would feel to be pressed together without the barrier of clothes. There were cheers behind from the other welders. The dancer met Dean's amused gaze. Their faces were too close. "Dean," Castiel swallowed, "I swear if you don't put me down, I –"

Castiel's stomach swooped as he was thrown through the air and he gasped when he hit the water, plunging into the icy cold lake. He flailed, instantly soaked from head to foot, and staggered upright while water lapped gaily at his jean clad thighs.

Drenched, shivering and murderous, he glared at Dean who was laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

"You –" began Castiel but he couldn't think of an insult severe enough. Without another word, he marched out of the lake, water splashing everywhere – the lake wasn't made for storming off in a huff though so his progress was slow – snatched his book from under the willow tree and squelched across the grounds towards the school, not stopping when Dean called after him and ignoring the continuous bouts of laughter from the other Neanderthals.

He didn't know when or how but he was going to get revenge.

"Cas! Hey! Wait up!"

Castiel did no such thing, pointedly refusing to acknowledge Dean as the welder jogged to his side matching his stride easily along the stony path to Garrison.

"C'mon, it was just a joke."

Castiel ignored him, also giving up his endeavour to outpace Dean without actually running away. He hated how aware he was of Dean. He hated that, even though he was angry, a part of him still enjoyed Dean being so close. He hated Dean's slang and his low slung jeans and his stupid necklace and his spiky hair and his strong body. He hated it all. He hated it. He hated Dean!

"Cas –"

"Fuck off," growled Castiel and Dean's step actually faltered. Obviously he was just as surprised at the harsh language as Castiel had been. Castiel didn't like to swear. He found it embarrassing. This time, however, it had been a purely instinctual reaction. Dean made him want to curse and use words like "fuck" and "shit".

"Christ, Cas, you're just a bit wet! It's nothing. Why're you so angry? Hey, will you stop?!" Dean gripped Castiel's wrist and jerked him sharply to a halt. They were under an arch of trees, sunlight dappling the woodchip path. "What's wrong with you? I thought. . ." Dean shifted his gaze, hands stuffed in his pockets. He seemed nervous. Vulnerable. "I thought we had a good time last night?"

Castiel squinted up at him, "It wasn't a date."

"Yeah, I know," he replied quickly, "but," he shrugged and gave him a wry grin, "I thought you'd hate me less, you know?" Dean looked down at his feet. "Thought maybe we could do it again. Maybe hang out."

Castiel knew that Dean was putting himself out there, laying himself bare for the world to see. He knew it was hard for him to leave himself open for rejection and Castiel had a suspicion that it was something Dean rarely did. Castiel knew all of this, he was fully aware of it, and yet, if someone asked him, he wouldn't have been able to explain why his reply was, "I think I can do a lot better than a welder, Dean."

It was malicious. It was cruel. It was quite possibly the most malignant comment he had ever said to anyone. His heart hurt for uttering it and he felt guilty immediately after. He couldn't understand why he had said it. He had no idea why he had set out to hurt Dean, to reject him so brutally.

Dean stared at him and Castiel stared back. He could feel the regret etched on his own face. "Dean, wait, I –"

"Whatever," said Dean.

"No, I shouldn't –"

"You know what? I don't know what I even saw in you," said Dean with a snort. He turned on his heel and started to walk away.

"Dean!" shouted Castiel. "Stop. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." When Dean didn't pause, Castiel suddenly felt annoyed. He could at least acknowledge his apology! Castiel's kneejerk reaction in his moment of irritation was to throw something to get Dean's attention, maybe make him angry too, so he would talk to Castiel. But, unfortunately, the only object in his hand was his book which had already hit Dean squarely in the back of the head before he could even think about the consequences. It was a hardback and whacked his skull with a painful thud.

Castiel anticipated that it would get Dean's notice but what he hadn't expected when the welder spun around was rage. Dean was mad. His nostrils were flared and his jaw was set. "Did you just –"

Castiel's heart began to gallop in his chest. He held up his hands in surrender. Had he finally pushed Dean too far? "Now, wait, I didn't –"

Dean's lips actually curled back in anger. "You little –"

Castiel's wide eyes met his. Leaves flew up in the air as Dean sprinted after him and Castiel bolted like a rabbit in the opposite direction.

"Get back here!" yelled Dean.

They raced through the trees, Dean hot on his tail. Castiel was fast but Dean was faster and stronger. The dancer made a sharp right, cutting through thick foliage and leaping over a low hedge. He was panting, his wet jeans were scraping his thighs and his skin was flushed with heat. There was a steep bank up ahead that he knew if he climbed he would come out of the trees onto the main path to the school. If he could get inside Garrison he would be safe – he hoped.

Something hard barrelled into him and he was thrown forward, crashing onto the earth face first. Castiel struggled in the mud, spitting out leaves and fighting to get free. He was flipped onto his back as easily as if he was made of nothing. Dean grabbed his legs and dragged him underneath the welder's body until Dean was sitting on top of him.

"Let me go!" Castiel tried to push him off but Dean just clamped his wrists and pinned them either side of the dancer's head.

He glared down at Castiel. They were both panting. Dean's eyes were alight with excitement and anger. They were a vivid green like a fire behind his irises. His chest was bare and smeared with mud, his nipples hard, his toned stomach rising and falling.

Castiel swallowed hard.

"You're so fucking –" He stopped talking as Castiel tried to uselessly pry himself free again and slammed the dancer's hands into the dirt, threading his fingers through Castiel's and squeezing. Unconsciously, Castiel squeezed back.

"So fucking annoying," growled Dean. "Why do I like you?!" he shouted. "I should fucking hate you!"

"Well, don't look at me!" yelled Castiel. "I can't explain why you're so moronic! GET OFF ME!" He was too aware of Dean sitting directly on top of his cock.

Dean didn't move an inch. "You're such a stuck up bitch! Always making snarky comments!"

"It's because you deserve it! You and your no good friends," retorted Castiel. He tried to twist his hands out of the welder's grasp. His palm slid against Dean's. Their hands were slick with sweat but Dean's grip was sure. Castiel stared up at him, at his lips and his eyes, at the dirt on his cheek. Heat stirred down below and he tried to shift his hips surreptitiously.

"Are you really that narrow minded?!" exclaimed Dean. "Christ, Cas, you sound like a –"

Castiel slammed his knee sharply into the welder's back and Dean's breath whooshed out of him. Shoving him off, Castiel scrambled to his feet, racing up the embankment. He could hear Dean following behind him as he ran up to the school entrance and pushed through the double doors. He wasn't watching where he was going and only just managed to skid to a halt when he noticed two workmen carrying what looked like a very expensive statue across the foyer.

Of course, when Dean barged through the doors he didn't get the memo and ran straight into the back of Castiel who fell into the workmen, causing the statue to slip off the plate and crack into three solid pieces on the floor.

"Oh, shit," breathed Dean behind him. Castiel couldn't have put it better himself.

"CASTIEL NOVAK!"

Miss Moseley was stood halfway down the main staircase, glaring at him in such a way that should have turned him to stone. She closed the gap between them appraising his sopping wet clothes and muddied face. "What in heaven's name do you think you are doing?"

Although it was quite evidently a rhetorical question, Castiel still felt the need to defend himself. "I, um..."

"You are the Head of House, Castiel! I do not expect to see the Head of House running through the school dripping wet and breaking expensive antiques! You're supposed to set an example!"

"Yes," mumbled Castiel. "Yes, I'm sorry, I—"

"A week's detention. For the both of you."

"What?! Woah, Miss, uh, Miss. . ." Dean scratched the back of his head. He was still shirtless and if Castiel had been in Dean's position, he would have kept his mouth shut. "Listen, Miss. . . um. . ."

"Moseley," Castiel hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"Miss Moseley, yeah, uh, I don't go here," he said, forcing a laugh, "so technically you can't –"

Miss Moseley glowered and Dean had the good sense to shut up. "I can do whatever I like Mr Winchester. Detention for the both of you, starting Monday. And put some clothes on for goodness sake!"

Castiel watched her go with a faint heart. He wheeled around to face Dean and stabbed a finger at him. "If you've lost me my place in the Christmas performance then you're going to wish you'd never been born!"

Dean snorted. "After meeting you, I already do."

~...~

It shouldn't have surprised Castiel that his friends found the story of how he had received a week's worth of detentions absolutely hilarious. He would have tried to keep his disastrous Saturday to himself if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd had to trudge back to his room sopping wet, passing by his fellow classmates as he went. His dip in the lake, squabble with Dean and accidental breaking of a statue was a goldmine of teasing material for Gabriel. Castiel took it all graciously in his stride though it was beginning to grate on him by Monday.

"She must have thought you were up to something raunchy, what with you both being all dirty and wet," said Gabriel during a pre-class stretch. He was holding his leg near his head, his right foot firmly on the ground while his left pointed towards the ceiling. Static stretching wasn't the best to start off a day with because it tired the muscles out, but Castiel had a suspicion that Gabriel enjoyed showing off his form as often and for as long as possible.

Castiel swung his arms above his head, working out the kinks. "Yes, Gabriel, that was her first thought, that Dean and I had been fucking in the trees," he said sarcastically.

Eyebrows close to his hairline, Gabriel dropped his leg. "Fucking? My, my, my Castiel, that's a dirty mouth. Has Dean been teaching you a thing or two? Maybe filling you up with filthy goodness?"

Castiel gave him an exasperated look and Gabriel shrugged. "If you ask me –"

"Which I didn't."

"I think you and Dean should be doing it. Between class...after class... hell, during class, just as long as it's frequent and it makes your ass sore otherwise what's the point?"

"What's the point in what?"

"All the UST," said Gabriel.

"Is that a disease?"

"Might as well be." Gabriel slid easily to the floor without bending his knees, sweeping his legs around in a 360 split. He was inhumanly flexible even for a ballet student. "Symptoms include: perpetual jerking off, fantasies of a licentious nature –"

"Licentious?" said Castiel sceptically. "Did you invest in a thesaurus?"

"I have a Sex Word of the Day Calendar. One of my lovers likes to have intellectual phone sex. I like to think it gives my brain a workout as well as my right hand."

"I can't imagine how long words could possibly be arousing."

"Hey, 'long' no matter what the context is always arousing," said Gabriel. He got to his feet. "My point is, the pros for doinking Dean outweigh the cons. So," he took a long swig of water, "you should do it."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Castiel eyed him. "I'd be impressed if you could give me one possible advantage for sleeping with Dean Winchester."

"He has a big cock." Gabriel grinned. "Reason enough, no?"

His cheeks flushed. "How do you know that?"

"Mmm, his big hands, baby!"

"That isn't proof and that's not an advantage."

"Of course it is," said Gabriel, tightening the lid on his bottle and setting it down. "His big cock might dislodge that stick up your ass."

"I do not have a stick up my ass!" snapped Castiel.

"Not what I've heard," he sang. "Has it always been there? Or did you misplace your ruler one day?"

~...~

The hours moved slowly which was a strange occurrence for Castiel since he loved ballet and rarely grew tired of it. He wondered if it was because he was anticipating the detention he would have to spend with Dean later on. Never in all his life had Castiel received a detention. And Dean was to blame for it. If it wasn't for him he most likely would have had a fairly uneventful – yet pleasant – Saturday.

By three o'clock Castiel was pleased to discover his place in the Christmas performance wasn't in danger though because the show was less than three weeks away, he supposed there wasn't enough time to replace him.

After a painful half an hour of Pilates, it was six in the evening and classes were over for the day. He was draining the last of a litre bottle of water, heading down the third floor corridor when he heard voices coming from his favourite lunchroom. He paused at the mention of his name, listening by the door.

"Castiel Novak he's called," said a female voice.

"Dark hair, blue eyes?" said another girl. "The Head of House?"

"That's him."

Curiosity killed the cat but, regardless, Castiel leaned closer.

"Yeah, the others talk about him sometimes. Apparently he's a really good ballet dancer, one of the best in the school."

"He's an asshole."

Castiel grimaced. He could hardly deny it though.

"He's been a douche to Dean ever since we got here."

"And Dean's still hung up on him?"

"Hung up on him? He's obsessed!"

"Dean said that?"

The girl snorted. "We're talking about Dean, here. He never says how he feels." There was a pause and then, "No, I can tell. He really likes the guy. If I believed in love at first sight I'd say he was in love." She sighed. "This Novak. . . I can see him fucking with Dean's heart. I don't like him."

Now that was harsh! Castiel would do no such thing. If Dean had indeed been lusting after him in a genuine, honest manner then Castiel would have been friendlier. As it was, he highly doubted the girl's accuracy of Dean's feelings. They were not honest, it was about sex and nothing more, which is one of the many reasons Castiel had never given him the time of day.

When their subject of conversation remained as "how much of an asshole Castiel was" he decided to leave them to it. He had a quick shower and changed into some comfortable clothes before making his way to Miss Moseley's office. Since they didn't have a detention room, Castiel assumed she would give them a task such as cleaning or sorting.

Detentions weren't the norm at Garrison, every student felt lucky to be there. It was a difficult school to get accepted into and only the truly talented managed it. They weren't about to give that privilege up for misbehaviour.

Dean was already there when he arrived. One look at each other and no further communication was made after that until Miss Moseley had given them their task for the evening – alphabetising the vinyl records in the first floor storage room - and Dean had to ask where they were going.

"It's near the end of this corridor on the right," explained Castiel as indifferently as he could. "Just after the studio."

They walked in a tense silence that wasn't necessarily awkward but Castiel moved rigidly and his nerves were stretched as tight as piano wires like he was bracing himself for something though he wasn't sure what.

Was he breathing too loudly?

A quick glance at Dean told him he wasn't in alone in his anxiety. There was a frown creasing Dean's face, his shoulders were hunched, hands stuffed in his pockets. Castiel had to wonder what he was thinking.

"She just gave you the keys?" said Dean when they reached the storage room. "Isn't anyone going to watch us?"

"Well, in rare cases like these the Head of House would be the one to supervise because the majority of teachers go home for the afternoon but..."

"You're the Head of House."

Castiel nodded. The key Miss Moseley had given to him was old, slightly bent, and it took some rattling to get the door open. "Exactly and Anna isn't here."

"You're going to supervise yourself?" said Dean in disbelief.

"We're not used to detentions here at Garrison, Dean."

"No shit," said Dean, chuckling. "You're all a bunch of saints, aren't you?"

"We were until you arrived," he replied grimly. Flicking the switch by the door, he looked around the dusty storage room, an oblong cave crammed to the brink with shelves full of boxes. The stuffy space held a variety of things such as props, costumes, dancewear, shoes and even a television on wheels.

"Yeah, I forgot, I'm the bad guy," said Dean.

Castiel sighed. "Must we argue?" He tucked the key into his pocket and navigated his way through the boxes that bad been left on the floor.

"Wouldn't want to break tradition, sweetheart. So where are these vinyls?"

"Vinyl."

"What?"

"The plural for vinyl is vinyl and I would assume they're at the back because we don't use them that often."

There was a small pause in which Castiel imagined Dean rolling his eyes. "Thanks for the info, grammar king."

The storage room was gloomier near the back past the rows of shelving and Castiel immediately felt uncomfortable. The fact that they were alone together was suddenly obvious. He tried to keep the distance between them as vast as possible but it wasn't the most spacious of rooms.

"Oh, well screw that," said Dean once he laid eyes on the tower of boxes crammed full of old records. "Can't we pretend we did it and do something fun instead?"

Castiel didn't ask what Dean's idea of 'fun' was. "I think we can credit Miss Moseley with a little more intelligence than that, Dean. She'll check if the task has been complete and unless you want to get another week of detentions I suggest you start with that box over there."

Dean grew bored and impatient quickly and Castiel whole heartedly understood why. The task was tedious and after half an hour his head was beginning to throb. He was impressed that Dean hadn't slacked off and found another way of entertaining himself. He stuck at it, commenting occasionally on the random albums they had like 'The Jungle Book' soundtrack and 'The Muppets'.

"Man, it'd be awesome if there were some AC/DC tracks." He chuckled, flipping the vinyl in his hand and checking the title.

They were sitting on the dusty floor surrounded by the boxes they had separated by letter.

"It's possible," said Castiel. "We use an array of music to dance to."

Dean tucked the disc away and grinned. It was so beautiful it made Castiel's heart skip. "Even rock?"

"Even rock. We once had to invent a routine for a rap piece."

"Rap?" Dean laughed. "Seriously?"

Castiel's lips twitched into a small smile. "I'll admit it was difficult. . . It's all about interpretation of the music, no matter what it is."

The welder chuckled again and shook his head. "Wow, I can just picture you in a tutu dancing to Eminem."

"Men don't wear tutus," corrected Castiel.

"Huh, that's a shame."

In the dim lighting Castiel studied his profile. Dean wasn't looking up, focused on the box in front of him. Did he have any idea the effect he had on Castiel? The way he made Castiel's heart beat fast and his stomach flip flop?

"Why?" asked Castiel aiming for nonchalance.

"Dunno," said Dean, yawning.

"You don't know?"

At Castiel's persistence, Dean's head lifted. He looked at Castiel curiously, eyes flicking over the dancer's face. Castiel squirmed under the attention but he didn't look away. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he enjoyed looking at Dean.

Dean's eyes narrowed, just a fraction. "Maybe I'd like to fuck you in one."

Castiel's inhaled sharply at the rush of heat that shot through him. He didn't dare catch Dean's eyes again and Dean didn't make him. They worked the remainder of the hour in silence, Castiel sitting half hard, flushed and mortified.

It was almost as embarrassing as the first day Castiel had met Dean only this time there was a difference. There had been a very worrying undertone of sincerity to Dean's words which Castiel found both exciting and terrifying.

Once they had completed as much as they were able to within the hour, they pushed the boxes to the side ready to start again tomorrow and locked the storage room.

As they walked back towards their respective dorms, Castiel risked a glance at Dean and his stomach somersaulted when he found him looking right back.

Castiel blushed, breaking eye contact. He heard Dean chuckle.

"What?" said Castiel irritably.

Dean shook his head, smirking. "You're blushing."

Castiel huffed out a breath. "I'm too warm," he said pathetically.

"Uh-huh," said Dean, "sure."

They reached the main staircase where they would part ways. It felt oddly enough like the end of a date, the awkward moment when the possibility of a kiss hung in the air.

It felt like that but it clearly wasn't that.

Castiel paused at the stairs wondering what he was waiting for while Dean just stood and smirked at him, hands in his pockets.

Was Dean still laughing at Castiel's blush?

"I don't know what you're smiling for," grumbled Castiel. "If I were you there wouldn't be much for me to smile about."

Dean laughed. "Right. I'll see you tomorrow you snarky bitch," he called and hopped down the stairs two at a time.

Castiel watched him go with a frown.

The insults had washed over Dean like water off a duck's back. Had something just happened? Had he missed a joke? What had Dean found so amusing?

He expelled a disgruntled breath, muttering to himself all the way back to his dormitory. Dean was incredibly irritating.

~...~


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

~...~

"Hold it for thirty seconds... I said thirty seconds Michael not three," said Mrs Chikezie, pacing the classroom.

In Castiel's eyes foam rollers were a utensil of torture. He was in between Ava and Adam rolling the cylinder underneath his body from his hip to his knee and back again. It focused on stretching the IT band which was a difficult muscle to stretch without aid but the necessity of the roller didn't disguise how painful it was to use. Castiel had already sweated through his t-shirt and they were only twenty minutes into the workout.

"How was the detention Castiel?" asked Ava while they worked.

Castiel would have grimaced if his face wasn't already twisted in pain. "Uncomfortable."

"No kissing?" said Ava forlornly. She actually seemed downhearted.

"How many times, Ava?" panted Castiel. "I'm not interested in Dean Winchester."

"So you say," commented Ava with a smile. "But I think you liike him."

"Why do you want him to get with Dean?" asked Adam.

"Because he's cute and sweet!"

Adam snorted. "Castiel can do better."

Castiel and Ava shared a look. "Umm, that's news to me," she said. "I thought you liked the Colt welders."

"Okay, take a short rest," said Mrs Chikezie. "If you haven't got your own Thera-Band there's a box of them here."

"I never said that," said Adam, standing up. "I'm just sick of hearing about Dean Winchester. He's all you guys ever talk about." He strode off to collect a Thera-Band before Castiel or Ava could say anything else.

"Well, that was strange," whispered Ava. Castiel could only nod in agreement.

~...~

When it was time to eat, Castiel decided it was probably best to steer clear of his favourite lunchroom for while, choosing instead to follow his friends to the dining hall. He was less than eager to bump into the girls who had been badmouthing him.

Ava was bouncing along at his side, attempting little hybrid fouetté turns as she went. Thankfully, Adam's dark mood seemed to have lifted and he was back to his usual mellow self even joking to Castiel about the pair of pink tights Mr Kubrick refused to let Gabriel wear.

Castiel figured the foam rollers had initiated Adam's petulance; they were enough to bring out the worst in even the nicest of people.

"If Mr Elkins catches you doing those God awful fouettés, Wilson, he'll have your head," said Bela coming up behind them.

Ava pouted. "They're not God awful."

"I'm afraid elephants have more finesse, darling," said Balthazar, throwing an arm across Ava's shoulders.

"At least she doesn't look like she's stepped in something nasty when she dances. Unlike some. 'Your expression Balthazar, watch your expression!'" said Adam, mimicking Mr Elkins.

Castiel chuckled. "It could be that Mr Elkins simply doesn't like Balthazar's face."

"That's true," said Bela. "Have you considered plastic surgery?"

"After seeing your disastrous alterations? I think I'll use you as an example of what not to do, Bela, and keep my face the way nature intended," retorted Balthazar.

"You realise road-kill isn't a good look for you, right?"

"My sugar muffins!" yelled Gabriel and leapt unceremoniously onto Castiel's back. "How is everybody?" Castiel hooked his hands under Gabriel's knees and his friend's arms encircled his neck. "Anna returns this Saturday!" said Gabriel without waiting for an answer. "We need to par-tay!"

"Good," said Castiel with relief. "I don't enjoy being the only Head of House."

"Lies, you like the power." Gabriel cackled. "So. What're we doing? Movie night? Curry Night? Get-wasted-and-put-make-up-on-Castiel-while-he-sle eps night?"

"Horror movie night," voted Adam. "Starting with The Descent!"

"Noo," complained Gabriel. "We start with Sharktopus."

"Sharktopus isn't a horror, Gabe," said Adam.

"A comedy would be more accurate," agreed Castiel.

"Urg! If I have to watch that drivel again I'm changing dormitories," said Bela.

"But it has an awesome soundtrack," exclaimed Gabriel and then proceeded to burst into song, "Sharktopus won't be kept at bay! And you can never ever get away! So swim on over don't ya scream and shout, he'll getcha baby without a doubt!"

"My ears feel molested," said Bela.

"Ooo, how about a cocktail night?" said Ava. She caught Gabriel's eye and they both sang, "Mojitooos!"

Castiel nodded. "We have the alcohol in."

"We'll have to get some more supplies though," said Ava thoughtfully. "Like fruit and mixers."

"I don't mind driving to the store," offered Adam.

Gabriel slid off Castiel's back as they entered the dining hall. It was quite busy with both ballet and welding students milling around. They all moved to collect some food and took a seat at the nearest empty table, chattering about their decided cocktail night while Castiel found himself scanning the room for Dean. He had thought he was being surreptitious about it but apparently he wasn't because when Ava nudged him, she gave him a cheeky grin and pointed to where Dean was sitting with his friends. She let Castiel freely stare at him without making a single comment. Sometimes he really liked Ava.

Dressed in blue overalls with a white t-shirt underneath, Dean was smiling, looking relaxed and happy with his companions and Castiel felt a pang of desire. He sighed quietly. It was difficult to talk to Dean without getting into an argument and yet every so often they could be quite pleasant to each other. Their relationship was . . . confused, skewed. Sometimes Castiel was reminded of two wolves circling the same piece of meat, staring each other out.

As if hearing Castiel's internal monologue, Dean's head turned and his eyes landed on the dancer. Castiel's heart thrummed in his ribcage and his fingers were slipping over the fork in his hand. Was he supposed to make a sign of acknowledgement? Should he glare? Should he frown? Wave? Smile? Curse? What?

Dean looked away apparently indifferent, talking to the blonde girl next to him, laughing at something she had said.

The muscles in Castiel's stomach clenched with jealousy.

"Are you going to eat that pasta or wait until it eats you?" said Adam, smiling.

Castiel returned the smile, though it was weak.

~...~

The residual tension he had been carrying throughout the day grew worse and it reflected in his performance during rehearsals.

"No, no, no, no, no, Castiel! What was that?!" snapped Mrs Tapping. "This is the Nutcracker! Where is the excitement? The enthusiasm? You have to convince your audience, Castiel, and I am not convinced!"

Castiel rubbed his face in frustration. "Yes, Mrs Tapping."

"Now, again. Convince me!"

By the end of rehearsals he was close to tears he was so angry and fed up. His feet were sore and bloody, his muscles aching. He had continuously been the source of his teacher's complaints, a torturous barrage of, "again, again, again!"

His exhaustion must have been visible on his face because Balthazar, the most unlikely person in the world to comfort anyone let alone a friend, patted him on the shoulder and said, "You did well. Don't let her put you down."

Later, in the shower, before he had to meet Dean for detention, Castiel twisted the dial up to the hottest temperature hoping to burn away some of the tension in his muscles but it refused to budge. He tried masturbating but was irritated to find all he could think about was Dean's face and his body. Since all he wanted was an orgasm, he gave in trying to search the crevices of his mind for something more arousing than the shape of Dean's lips and resigned himself to thinking about the welder while he furiously tugged on his dick. His orgasm wasn't coming though. It wasn't even on the periphery. His arm was beginning to ache and still he couldn't climax. In his frustration, he pushed two fingers into his ass. Because he had been rough though, it was uncomfortable and both of his arms eventually were too tired to put anymore effort in. Thus, with reluctance, he gave up, feeling even more frustrated than he had before the shower.

He dressed and went to meet Dean, hoping feebly that it wasn't going to be a stressful detention.

He had no such luck.

~...~

"It isn't my problem if you have something better to do, Dean. This has to be done."

"I never said I had something better to do! I was just saying this is pointless."

"Yes, I can see why someone like you finds hard work a 'pointless' exercise."

"Hey, I work just as fucking hard as you do, okay?"

"I beg to differ."

"I can make you beg if you want."

Castiel flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. "Why do you do that? Why do you turn everything into a sexual innuendo?"

"Because it's the only way to shut you up," growled Dean.

Castiel rose to his feet and Dean matched him, scowling. "If my speaking to you is so unpleasant then I'll refrain from doing so in future."

"You could have just said, 'I'll shut the fuck up then' because you know what? That's English, Cas! I understood it. I didn't need a freakin' dictionary to get me there," yelled Dean.

"I apologise, I didn't realise your brain lacked the capacity to learn big words."

They were practically nose to nose, Dean having the slight height advantage. They had fallen into an argument the minute they had stepped through the storage room door. Castiel couldn't recall who had started it but it had escalated from there, the day's pressure ventilating from him, until they were screaming at one another.

"No, I just choose to sound like a normal person, instead of a pretentious fuck!"

Castiel's teeth gritted together, his jaw hurting from the pressure. Even in the low lighting Dean's eyes were a glorious green; they were electric. "Of course I would seem pretentious to an ape like you!"

"Oh, give me a break. Everyone is an ape according to you!"

"Only those who roll around in mud, Winchester!"

"If I remember correctly you were rolling around in the mud with me, Castiel!"

"Only because you grabbed me!"

"You threw a fucking book at my head, you fuck!"

"You threw me in the lake, you ignoramus!"

"You threw my football in the lake!"

"You kicked it at me!"

Dean made as exasperated sound, his arm twitching. "I wasn't aiming for you! Don't be so full of yourself!"

"You shouldn't have been playing football on Garrison grounds anyway!"

"It's called FUN you, boring self involved ASSHOLE! Do you even know what FUN is?!"

"Yes I do!" shouted Castiel. "And it doesn't involve STRIPPING to the waist and running around after a ball!"

"OH," Dean threw up his arms, "God forbid you show any fucking flesh you prudish little shit!"

"I am not a PRUDE!"

"You're gay and I bet the only fucking thing you've had up your ass are your manicured fingers!"

"I have a DILDO you fucking jackass!" Castiel's breath caught and his face burned. He hadn't meant to say that. His heart was pounding, his chest heaving, his breaths falling quick.

There was a second of quiet, a second to take note of the heat and electricity in the air, a second of glaring and then Dean surged forward and kissed him.

Castiel pushed him away automatically and Dean backed off a couple of paces, staring at him. There was still anger there, still hatred etched on to Dean's face but there was also want. Pure lust. Undeniable. Dean's hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides like he wanted to grab Castiel and force him to return the kiss. His eyes were dark, lips wet, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Castiel had never seen anything so sexy.

The dancer leapt on him, his legs winding around Dean's hips, arms finding purchase on his broad shoulders, shoulders that Castiel had dreamed of, and kissed him desperately on lips that Castiel had thought about while touching himself.

Dean stumbled and grunted under the sudden weight but he didn't fall. He returned the kiss just as eagerly, biting Castiel's lips, mixing his lust with hate. Their tongues tangled and Dean slammed him into the shelving, the metal digging into Castiel's lower back. The dancer gasped and Dean bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He licked his way into Castiel's mouth and Castiel hungrily accepted him, rocking his hips, rubbing his throbbing cock up the hard length of Dean's, hot and achingly good even through the barrier of clothes.

Dean groaned like he was pained and shoved Castiel into the shelving again. Boxes toppled over and crashed to the floor. The heat between Castiel's legs was intense, lava hot. Dean thrust against him so hard it should have been too painful to be good but it wasn't. It was better. Dean was big, strong and smelled intoxicating. He supported Castiel's weight, grinding his hips, sending shudders of pleasure rippling through Castiel's body. It was better than he could have ever imagined. The feel of Dean, his skin, his lips, it turned Castiel on more than anyone or anything ever had.

He panted into Dean's mouth, already he could feel his orgasm climbing fast. Like wild horses there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not that he wanted it to stop. Dean was relentless, shoving his hard cock alongside Castiel's, rocking his hips, hands squeezing Castiel's ass, crushing him closer. Castiel pulled at his sandy hair, and Dean sucked on his throat, biting, blood rushing to the surface.

It was a brutal attack of hatred, lust and built up tension. The friction of jeans was burning, and then he came, his orgasm like a punch, barrelling through him forcing a sound out of Castiel's throat that he wouldn't have believed he could make.

Dean pulled back and watched him, staring at Castiel's parted lips and flushed face and that was all it took. He jerked his hips one more time, the last of the boxes falling, and moaned in such a way that Castiel's spent cock twitched.

They stayed like that, Dean holding him up, gazing at each other, while they caught their breaths. Dean's eyes roamed over his face like he was trying to memorise it and Castiel let him.

The room fell into a delicate silence. The volcano had finally erupted and the air was thick with its expelled energy.

Castiel didn't want to move. He wanted to stay in this moment permanently and stay with this person, the person whose eyes were soft with something akin to affection. He didn't want to argue. For the first time in a long time he felt a moment of pure bliss.

Dean kissed him on the forehead carefully and his hands slipped from Castiel's backside to his thighs.

Castiel took the hint and stepped down, feet unsteady on the ground. Those large, secure hands stayed on Castiel's hips until he was stable and then let go.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Instead, he sighed and walked away, leaving Castiel alone in the destroyed storage room.

~...~


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

~...~

Miss Moseley surveyed him over thick framed reading glasses. He didn't blame her scepticism. At six o'clock in the morning he had walked into her office looking like a mugging victim. The skin under his eyes was dark from lack of sleep, there were two large, angry bruises on his neck, a scratch starting at his cheek bone and finishing at his jaw, he was walking slightly bent over because of the pain in his back and his lip was split. After his dreadful collapse in willpower, Castiel had stayed behind to clean up the storage room (with cold, sticky come in his boxers) and had crawled into bed exhausted without bumping into any of his dormitory friends. They still hadn't seen him and he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. He wondered if telling the truth would be as catastrophic as he expected it to be.

"Mr Winchester does seem to be having a bad influence over you, Castiel," said Miss Moseley finally. "And since the Christmas performance is fast approaching, your time might be better spent out of his company, rehearsing instead."

Castiel had requested to serve his detention doing something else, away from Dean, and he was glad she seemed to agree. She hadn't asked how he had received the damage to his body which had surprised him but there was certainly a large degree of disappointment in her tone that had him looking away, ashamed.

"I heard less than an acceptable report from Mr Tapping yesterday," she added and Castiel cringed. "You are an excellent dancer, Castiel. You mustn't let the likes of Dean Winchester ruin your chances of success."

Castiel nodded quickly, sweaty hands clasped together in his lap. "I won't, Miss Moseley."

She seemed to believe him. "I'll make arrangements with Mr Winchester to discuss his remaining detentions. Make sure you practice. If I receive any more complaints from your teachers then we'll have to have another talk and I won't be as lenient. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Moseley."

"You may go."

~...~

The five of his friends all shared the same look of astonishment, heads close together like the kids from the Goonies.

"What in God's name happened to your face?!" exclaimed Bela.

"Nothing, he was born that way," said Gabriel cracking up at his own joke.

Castiel stirred his porridge. "Nothing," he agreed, focusing on the steaming oats.

Something cool touched the cut on his lip. He jerked back and saw it was Ava. She had a worried frown on her face, hand still raised, finger poised. "What happened, Castiel?"

Castiel sighed. "Dean and I..."

Adam's hand slammed down on the table, rattling the cutlery and making everyone jump. "Did he hit you?"

"No," said Castiel slowly, taken aback by Adam's mood swing. He rubbed the ache from his tired eyes and looked away. "No, we... um, we..." He took a breath. "We kissed." A slight distortion of the truth but nevertheless close enough.

There was a short pause, then, "And what? He ate your face?" said Gabriel.

"We kissed," said Castiel, throwing him a sour look.

"That's a very violent kiss, Castiel," commented Ava.

"Well. . ." He shifted uncomfortably. "Dean and I don't have the most harmonious relationship." When no one said anything he looked up to find them all, bar Adam, holding back a grin.

"What?" said Castiel and they exploded into laughter. "What?"

"Gross understatement, Castiel," said Bela.

Ava nodded. "You're at each other's throats on a good day."

"Mm, and judging by the state of Castiel's throat it was a very good day," said Gabriel.

"So are you dating?" asked Ava eagerly.

Castiel opened his mouth but Gabriel cut in, "Didn't you hear the boy? He and Dean don't have a 'harmonious relationship'," he said, in finger quotes. "That's Castiel-speak for, 'we're having hot, steamy hate sex in the storage room'." He sighed dreamily. "Hate sex is the best, second only to fucking cowboy style to Ridin' Dirty by Chamillionaire."

"That's why you had that song on repeat for about an hour two weeks ago?!" said Adam. "I thought you were working on a dance!"

"Oh, I was dancing alright," said Gabriel, waggling his eyebrows, "I was doing the horizontal tango."

"I think I'm going to throw up," said Bela.

Ava giggled. "At least he doesn't do it to the Sharktopus theme song."

Gabriel's face coloured with delight.

"Oh, Lord, don't give him ideas," said Balthazar.

"To answer Ava's question," interrupted Castiel. "I'm not dating Dean. It was just . . ." he swallowed, memories of the previous night swooping into his mind, "a mistake."

Frowning, Ava leaned forward on the table. "Does Dean think that too?"

By way of avoiding the question, Castiel shrugged and focused on finishing his breakfast. The truth was he couldn't fathom how Dean felt about what had happened between them. He had obviously wanted Castiel just like Castiel had wanted him – he had the love-bites to prove it – otherwise he wouldn't have initiated the kiss. But Dean had left him after which could only mean that he regretted the incident, surely?

It was all irrelevant anyway because Castiel regretted it too. It shouldn't have happened and if Dean wanted to pretend like it hadn't then that was perfectly acceptable in Castiel's opinion.

Though. . . it was also inexplicably hurtful. He didn't know why, but it hurt that Dean regretted it. Castiel had no right to feel hurt, he knew that, and yet. . . he couldn't help but be bothered by the fact that Dean didn't want him. He didn't want Castiel as a. . . boyfriend.

Good grief.

He couldn't believe the direction his thoughts had taken him. He needed to snap out of it and stay away from Dean. He needed to focus on more important things like the Christmas performance.

It would be okay.

He just needed to avoid Dean.

That was a doable goal.

~...~

"Castiel!"

He was leaving his Pas De Deux class with Cassie when Madison caught up to him. "Mr Walker wants to see you."

"Mr Walker?" said Castiel, his brows furrowing. "I don't know who that is."

"He's a Colt teacher," explained Madison. "You'll find him in the outbuildings. He's teaching in number three I think."

"Oh, okay, thanks, Madison," said Castiel though his frown hadn't lifted.

"I wonder what he wants with you," said Cassie, voicing Castiel's thoughts.

Garrison students were allowed a fifteen minute break between classes and Castiel wasn't pleased that he was going to miss out on his. It also meant that there was a good chance he was going to see Dean which had his stomach twisting in knots.

He bid Cassie goodbye and apprehensively made his way to the workshops.

There were three large, grey stone outbuildings at the back of the school behind the kitchens, hidden away, sheltered under the winter worn aspen trees and camouflaged in ivy. For the purposes of directing the welding students, there was a number felt-tipped on a plain piece of A4 paper taped to each door.

The weather was cool when he stepped out, too cold for just a t-shirt and tights. He shivered, walked up the steps of the third workshop and pushed open one of the double doors.

Warm air rushed out mixing with the bitter. Smells of metal, chemicals and oil greeted him along with the sounds of chatter and machinery. It was well lit inside by artificial bulbs. Students were scattered in different areas of the building, working at individual stations. He paused in the doorway—no one had seen him yet—and endeavoured to muster an ounce of courage. He spotted the teacher, Mr Walker, talking to a student four tables from the front of the classroom.

Back straight, chin notched, Castiel strode towards him.

He tried not to look at the other students but the knowledge that one of them was possibly Dean had him glancing at every masked face that looked his way. One student who had been working on a pipe, a myriad of sparks dancing from the metal and bouncing off the mask, stopped what they were doing and stared at Castiel. The fact he couldn't see their eyes made it slightly unnerving. They lifted their mask, however, and Castiel realised it was a girl. She had a black smudge on her cheek and she was glaring at him with unrestrained malice.

Castiel looked away. Apparently he had walked right into a lion's den.

"Mr Walker?" said Castiel once he had reached the teacher's side. "You wanted to see me?"

Mr Walker, he discovered in less than five seconds, was not a fan of ballet nor was he a fan of Castiel. The tall man looked the dancer up and down, taking in his tights, ballet shoes and clinging t-shirt, and snorted offensively.

Castiel's eyes narrowed but he didn't comment; he was taught to respect his elders. "Sir?"

Mr Walker crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to know why Winchester, my best student, has to do a week of detentions and you don't."

In Castiel's opinion, it would have been more mature of Mr Walker to take the conversation to a private location but, as Castiel reminded himself, he wasn't dealing with mature – he was dealing with another Dean Winchester.

"I assure you that I am serving detention just like –"

"That's not what I hear," said Mr Walker. "Moseley said you're just gonna dance after school."

It took a concerted effort to calm himself down. "Miss," he corrected, "Moseley, thinks it prudent that I use the time to rehearse."

"That doesn't sound like a punishment to me."

Castiel didn't point out that on a regular day, he was too exhausted to move after his classes had finished let alone get up and do another hour of ballet. "I assure you, Mr Walker, it takes just as much effort, if not more –"

"Don't give me that crap. Winchester's got to stay behind with me, sitting in a room for an hour. And who's saying it was his fault anyway? The way I see it, you're the one who broke that statue so you're the one who should get the blame. Not Winchester."

"If you believe that is the case then I suggest you take it up with Miss Moseley. If you'll excuse me," said Castiel, "I'm late for class."

Just as Castiel turned to leave, Mr Walker gripped his arm, yanking Castiel closer. "I wasn't finished!"

Castiel opened his mouth to reply with something which would probably have landed him in a years' worth of detentions if it hadn't been for, "Sir!"

A masked student jogged up to them, brushing Castiel's side. "Sir, my plasma cutter's fucked," complained the student. "Can you come take a look?"

The voice was muffled behind the mask but Castiel had a strong suspicion that it was Dean. He looked up at the student trying to see through the disguise.

Mr Walker dropped his hand, eying Castiel. "What's wrong with it?"

"Keeps starting and stopping," said the boy.

Eventually Mr Walker turned from the dancer and grunted his assent, following the student to his workstation.

Castiel took that as his cue to leave.

~...~

For two hours after his classes had finished Castiel danced alone in the studio. When the CD ended he restarted his selected playlist again and moved into position in front of the mirrored wall, arms poised. His hair was spiky and soaked with sweat, his face was flushed and dripping with the same perspiration, t-shirt glued to his body, tights damp, feet burning, but he didn't stop. It was a much greater relief to dance without critical eyes following his every move than he had originally thought. He had past the point of ache long ago and was now running on adrenaline and endorphins.

The music kicked in—Rage Against the Machine, Guerrilla Radio. He had wanted something loud enough to block out his thoughts and fast enough to propel him forward.

He spun, his body whipping around, in a perfect pirouette. He threw himself across the room, leaping in the air, matching the violent drum beat and excessive shouting with swift fluid movements of his own.

Castiel drowned in the dance, the sound, the aggression, working out his own anger from his muscles.

He lunged, head first, into four consecutive handsprings, landing neatly on his feet, facing the mirror as the song came to an abrupt end.

Exhaling softly, Castiel lowered his arms and prepared for the next song, something slower, a contrast to cool down—DJ Tiesto, Sweet Misery—when a drawling voice echoed through the room.

"You weren't kidding about the music, huh?"

Castiel's eyes snapped to the reflection of Dean Winchester in the mirror, shoulder resting on the doorframe, arms folded.

Castiel didn't turn around. He ignored the swell of desire that rushed through him at the sight of Dean and picked up the towel beside the CD player to wipe the sweat away from his face.

"So that's it? You're ignoring me?" said Dean, stepping inside, hand gliding over the ballet bar. His footsteps were loud over the intro of the song.

Tossing the towel away, Castiel sighed. "I'm not ignoring you, Dean. I'm choosing not to argue."

"Doesn't mean you can't talk to me."

Castiel met his eye in the mirror. "We argue because we talk," he replied.

There was a small silence and then Dean walked very deliberately towards him, eyes never leaving Castiel's, footsteps echoing. He was dressed in a wife beater—black—jeans and boots. No surprise: he looked incredibly handsome.

Dean paused directly behind Castiel and placed his feverish hands on his shoulders, they slid excruciatingly slowly down the dancer's arms. Castiel's breathing shook. His nerves were alight, his skin tingling. His body responded to Dean automatically like it had had years of his touch.

Dean's chest pressed into Castiel's back and his lips grazed his ear as Dean whispered, "Then we won't talk."

He meant to say 'no', in fact he turned his head to say as much but his eyes met Dean's darkened gaze and arousal flared through him fire hot; he was dizzy with it. He could literally feel the moment his desire overrode his willpower. Castiel closed the inches of space between them and brought his lips to Dean's.

The kiss was slow, open mouthed and languid. The soft give of Dean's lips went straight to Castiel's cock. Of their own accord, Castiel's hands found the back of Dean's head, carding through his short hair and pulling him closer, making the kiss deeper.

Strong hands slid around the dancer's waist and dragged him backwards and Castiel gasped when his ass pressed into Dean's erection hidden by jeans. Castiel's tights were so thin he might as well have been naked because he could feel everything: the hot, hard line of Dean's cock, his balls and the jut of his hips. The hands, which were flattened on Castiel's stomach holding him in place, tightened and Dean's hips shifted, his dick pushing between Castiel's ass cheeks. The action caused his breath to hitch, he whimpered, and Dean full on groaned.

He knew they were both picturing it—Dean fucking him, Dean's cock filling him up—and he knew that if they had had lube and a condom (maybe not even a condom) then Dean would have been fucking him up against the wall for all to see.

With that thought in mind, Dean shoved him bodily forward and Castiel's hands flew up to brace himself on the mirror. Their breathing was so loud, his own heartbeat deafening in his ears, that he didn't know if the music was still playing. Castiel's rushing breath caught in his throat when he heard the distinct sound of a zipper. Hands landed on his hips again, yanking his tights down, catching on the throbbing head of his cock. Castiel hissed and suddenly he was exposed.

He didn't have a moment to feel self conscious though, because Dean's hand encircled his shaft, tugging roughly without any forewarning and it punched a moan out of Castiel. Dean's cock, a hot hard wetness, slipped behind his balls, nudging his sack. In no time at all they had become desperate. His mouth dropped open, heavy pants falling past his lips, his eyes closed but then Dean said in a sex raw voice, "Fuck, look at you, Cas, look how good you look in my arms, your cock in my hand."

And he could see it, he could see them, in the mirror. It was so clear, so vulgar like watching a porn movie with himself in it but he liked it, he loved seeing himself with Dean. He loved how large Dean's hand was wrapped around Castiel's dick, jerking him off fast and hard while Dean thrust his cock between Castiel's ass cheeks, the slippery head nudging against his hole, catching on the rim. He liked how he could see the jeans hanging from Dean's thighs, his hips thrusting. Then his gaze moved higher, to Dean's flushed face. His lips were parted just like Castiel's and his eyes were hooded and glazed with lust. The sight had precome spurting out of Castiel's cock.

Dean moaned, thumb swiping at the head, and Castiel's hands clenched. He was close; he could feel his orgasm rising fast. He was riding a knife edge. He was so close, so close. And then Dean's cock slipped and jabbed behind his balls. The extra surge of pleasure threw him into a dizzying climax, come splashing onto the mirror as he gasped out Dean's name. Dean watched it happen and came seconds later, slicking his balls and ass.

They sagged against the wall, too weak to stand upright. Dean's arms enclosed Castiel, squeezing him tight, and he sucked fresh bruises into Castiel's neck.

The dancer stared at him, at their reflection, at the come splattered mirror, and he knew there was no going back—he was addicted and he wanted more.

~...~


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

~...~

"This is bullshit, Cas."

"Will you keep your voice down?" hissed Castiel while he pulled up his tights, trying to make sense of his clothing in the dim lighting.

"That's the first fucking thing you've said to me since Tuesday," growled Dean. He was slumped on a mop bucket, arms crossed, sulking like an overgrown child.

Castiel didn't answer. He snatched a roll of tissue from the side and checked his stomach and hands for come. Since the studio incident, every spare moment they'd had, Dean and Castiel had used the time for sex or as close to sex as they could get which was usually jerking each other off in closets, empty classrooms and behind trees. They hadn't risked anything more than that in case they needed to vacate quickly. Plus, there was something significantly worse about being found bent over a desk, taking it up the ass than there was huddled in a corner holding a cock.

"Will you fucking say something? It's like talking to the god damn wall!"

"Dean," breathed Castiel, scrunching up the used tissue and stuffing it in a random rusty paint tin. He hoped no one looked too closely at what was in there. "It would be best if you didn't have a tantrum right now, I need to return to class," he said, cracking the door open an inch and peeking into the hallway.

"I am not having a tantrum!"

Castiel winced and quickly closed the door. "Will you be quiet?" he snapped.

"No! Maybe I wanna talk, Cas!" yelled Dean. He was extremely angry. Castiel couldn't understand why.

"I do not wish to start this now, Dean," said Castiel. "Not here."

Dean notched his chin. "When then?"

"I don't know."

"That means never."

"Dean—"

"Cas."

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do you care?" he said. "I don't understand why this suddenly matters to you."

Dean jumped to his feet. "Because maybe I want to have an actual fucking conversation with you! Maybe I want to talk to you after I jerk you off!" He pushed his hands through his short hair. "Christ, if I didn't know better I'd think you were a hooker the way you fucking get up and leave after each time."

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who left me first," said Castiel.

"I didn't know what to say! I thought you were gonna freak out! But I've stayed since then. I've always tried to touch you after and you just –"

"I can hardly wait around for coffee and cake, Dean," said Castiel derisively.

"Cake," Dean nodded, looking away. "That's it isn't? You want to have your cake and eat it."

Castiel rolled his eyes, his temper beginning to crawl higher. "I think you may have misinterpreted that idiomatic proverb, Dean."

The welder moved in close, glowering, and Castiel almost stepped back but he didn't want to seem weak. It wasn't fear that gave him the urge to move away, it was desire. Even when Dean was furious, which was most of the time with Castiel, he was beautiful. "No," snarled Dean. "I get it. It means having the best of both worlds. You wanna hate me and you wanna fuck me."

Castiel blushed profusely. "I don't want to...to fuck you." At least he didn't think he did. Castiel had only ever pictured himself bending over for someone else.

"Fuck can mean sex in general, Cas! I'm not implying you're gonna stick your cock in my ass."

"Oh," muttered Castiel, staring intently at his ballet shoes. He suddenly felt very small, as he sometimes did when Dean gave him a display of how knowledgeable he was in areas Castiel had very little experience in.

A hand touched his face and because his cheeks were burning up, it was cool on his heated skin. He raised his eyes, surprised to find the anger in Dean's expression had all but evaporated and in its place was the tiniest trace of a smile, a miniscule tilt to his full lips, barely there. Dean's thumb brushed his cheek bone. "You're cute when you blush."

Castiel grimaced, leaning ever so slightly into the broad hand cupping his face. "That's something I haven't been called before. I'm not sure I like it."

Dean arched a brow. "Would you prefer pretentious asshole?"

A breathy chuckle escaped Castiel's lips. "No..." he mumbled. Staring into Dean's eyes for any prolonged period of time made him dizzy. As cliché as he knew his thoughts sounded he could get lost in Dean's gaze.

Dean grinned. "Good," he whispered, tilting his head for a kiss. Castiel moved to accept it, his hand gliding over Dean's strong shoulders, up his neck and through his hair. Castiel liked touching Dean's hair; it was feather soft and tickled his fingers.

The kiss was sweet and less desperate than what they were used to and Castiel found he enjoyed it just as much if not more. Eventually though he had to pull back and murmur, "I have to get to class," against Dean's lips. He kissed him one last time and was pleased that Dean let him go.

~...~

During CC (Creative and Contemporary) he made the depressing realisation that his ballet shoes needed to be replaced. They had lasted eight months and he had been hoping to get another few more weeks out of them but, alas, his toe poked through a hole which had already been hand sewn twice before. He made it through the rest of the lesson with his destroyed shoes and sat down miserably at the end to take them off.

"Unlucky," said Adam who took a seat beside him. His friend's hair, face and t-shirt were wet with the water he had tipped over himself to cool down. Before Castiel had met Dean he probably would have found the sight of Adam enticing but there wasn't the slightest flutter of attraction for him now.

Castiel sighed. "I hate breaking in new shoes."

Smiling gently, Adam said, "You're not alone there." When all Castiel did was pout at the state of his shoes, he added, "You're lucky it's Friday."

"Mm," grumbled Castiel.

"No classes tomorrow."

"Mm."

"We can go and buy a new pair if you'd like?" suggested Adam. "I mean, I'm going into town anyway for, you know, stuff for the cocktail night so, um, you could come with me if, you know, you want to. . ."

It was the blatant nervousness in Adam's voice that made Castiel look up. His friend's ears were pink and he was picking at the label on his bottle of water, staring at it as though it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Unable to think of a reason why Adam would be uncomfortable, Castiel shrugged his curiosity off and said, "Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

Adam beamed.

~...~

Over the past two days Castiel had met Dean in the studio after he was finished with his detention with Mr Walker. Without ballet shoes Castiel was forced to stand around waiting apprehensively instead of dancing. He almost decided not to go at all but he wanted to see Dean—he always wanted to see Dean.

He slid down the mirror and sat on the floor, elbows resting on his raised knees, playing with his pinkie finger, nervously watching the door. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. He was even less certain about what he wanted. Did he want to date Dean? Did Dean want to date Castiel? Would it work? What if Dean didn't show up? What did that mean?

When the door creaked open and Dean appeared, Castiel rose to his feet, wiping his sweaty palms on his cargo pants.

The welder closed the space between them, his expression curiously inscrutable. He looked Castiel up and down. "No tights?" he said with a smile.

Castiel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "My shoes have ripped. I need to get a new pair before I can dance again."

Dean nodded. "Want to go for a ride?"

"In a car?"

Dean's smile turned teasing. "In a car," he agreed.

Castiel wondered at the motive behind the suggestion and waited for lewd comments to make an appearance. When none did, he nodded hesitantly. "Okay."

~...~

Dean's car turned out to be a '67 Chevy Impala. Not what Castiel had expected but, when he sank into the deep comfortable passenger seat and inhaled the leather scent of the interior mixed with the smell of metal and spice he couldn't picture Dean driving anything else.

They were quiet as they exited the gates of Garrison, travelling a twilight lit road sheltered by evergreen. Castiel relaxed into the leather and watched the landscape pass by. He didn't ask where they were going, though he guessed Dean had a place in mind from the intricate route he was taking.

"So. . ." began Dean.

"So?"

"You have a dildo."

Castiel gave him a look.

"What?" said Dean, laughing. "You can't expect me to just forget about that."

"I don't suppose I can," replied Castiel.

"Did you buy it yourself?"

"No, Gabriel bought it for me as a birthday gift." Castiel grimaced. "He thought it was hilarious."

"I bet," said Dean, grinning. He glanced at Castiel. "I'm surprised you tried it out."

"For a long time I used it as a paper weight," said Castiel solemnly and Dean cracked up laughing. "But after coming home late from a party one night I'd drank enough alcohol to consider using it."

"And?" prompted Dean.

Castiel slanted a look at him. "I had the best orgasm of my life."

There was a long pause. Dean's thumb tapped the steering wheel, he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

Castiel grinned. "I embarrassed you."

"You didn't."

"I did." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I never thought I would see the day. I made Dean Winchester blush."

Dean sighed. "You're way too fucking proud about that."

"I'm not proud enough."

They turned up a narrow winding road which led to the foot of a very steep bank. Dean parked the car half on the grass, leaving the road free and unclipped his seat belt.

"We're getting out?" said Castiel incredulously, glancing at Dean's heavy leather jacket. "I'm going to freeze."

The sun had fallen. What was visible of the sky through the trees was a bluish black. There was mist on the windows of the Impala and Castiel was wearing a thin long sleeved shirt which would do nothing at all to protect him from the cold.

"I'll keep you warm." Dean smiled (or rather smirked).

Castiel huffed. "Dean, I—"

"Just trust me, Cas," said Dean. "You'll like it I promise."

He looked into Dean's eyes for longer than was absolutely necessary and saw nothing but sincerity. Castiel was quickly beginning to understand just how easy it was to trust him. Dean had never lied and he had no doubts that he ever would. Unhooking his seatbelt, Castiel pushed the car door open and stepped outside into the frigid air.

The cold was bearable but only just. He rubbed his arms and walked around the car to where Dean waiting with his hand held out. Castiel eyed the open palm warily.

"Jeez, Cas, you're such a girl," said Dean.

Castiel marched up to him and gripped it tight. "No more of a girl than you," he replied, bumping their arms together. The hand enclosing Castiel's was gloriously warm and big. He felt jittery and excited as though a bag of jumping beans had been dropped into Castiel's belly. Where their fingers were threaded, where their skin touched, there was a steady stream of warmth spreading up Castiel's arm and to every corner of the rest of his body.

Castiel tried hard to beat down the happy smile that appeared on his face but it was impossible.

"Wanna know an interesting fact?" said Dean as they climbed the precipitous embankment.

"Are you sure it's a fact and not something you've discovered on Wikipedia?"

"You have no faith in me," sighed Dean.

"I apologise. Go ahead."

"There's a mountain. . . or a hill. I think it's a hill—"

"Very accurate."

"—in New Zealand that's called Taumat...uh...Tamat..." He shrugged. "It's eighty-five letters long anyway. The longest place name in the world."

"Wow," said Castiel, his cheeks aching from smiling too hard. "I'm impressed."

"Impressed with my fact filled mind?" preened Dean.

"No, impressed that you've heard of New Zealand."

Castiel yelped when Dean suddenly grabbed him around the waist and scooped him off the ground, holding him like he was a damsel in distress. "You know, Cas," he said, smile so wide it displayed all of his teeth. "I'm stronger and bigger than you. . . you should show me some respect."

Heart pounding and breath coming short as if he had been running, Castiel tried to look unruffled but, draped in Dean's arms, it was somewhat difficult to look dignified in such a graceless position. "I'm not a woman, Dean, there's no need to carry me like one."

Dean laughed, allowing Castiel to slide to his feet though he still kept a firm grip on his hips. "I know you're not a chick. I've seen what you've got down there, remember?" Dean said and squeezed his ass.

How could Castiel possibly forget?

The resulting exercise from climbing the hill kept the chill away and he was quite warm by the time they made it to the top. He looked out onto the land, twinkling lights in the distance similar to the view they had seen on the roof of Garrison.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" asked Castiel. There wasn't an ounce of disappointment in his voice. It was nothing special but he had enjoyed spending time with Dean and would have been just as content to sit with him on top of a landfill.

"Wrong side, Cas." Dean chuckled, sliding his arms around his waist and turning him around.

Castiel gasped.

The view was spectacular.

Garrison and its acres of land were displayed across the horizon, the twinkling lake reflecting the night, the huge stone pillars, turrets and yellow glowing windows of the school stood out against the inky blue-black sky. It was Castiel's home, the place he had spent so much of his life, he had never seen it look so beautiful.

Dean's chin rested on his shoulder. "Cool, huh?"

Castiel swallowed. "It's...incredible."

He felt Dean smile against his cheek. "Thought you'd like it."

An icy wind swept by forcing a shudder out of Castiel. Dean opened his jacket and wrapped him up in it. Cocooned in the leather barrier, Dean's arms and a hot chest at his back, Castiel was hidden and safe from the winter breeze.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?" he whispered.

"I kinda like you."

Castiel tucked his face into the jacket, smiling. "I kind of like you too, Dean."

~...~


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

~...~

Dust motes twirled merrily in the shaft of light peeking through the curtains and shining into the room. Castiel was lying in bed, one hand behind his head. He lifted his arm and flicked the plume with his finger, sending the little specks into chaos. Yesterday's memories drifted into his mind like pieces of sea worn wood washing ashore. He smiled and thought of Dean. Would he see him today? he wondered.

Just as the thought came to mind, his phone whistled. He picked it up from his bedside table, dragged the lock icon across the screen to open it and his stomach swooped at the sight of Dean's name. They had exchanged numbers for the first time last night. So far they had only texted each other once and that was to say goodnight. He had been thinking about messaging Dean but it was still early, about seven o'clock, and he had been worried about waking him. He was pleased then, that Dean didn't seem to have the same dilemma.

**Dean: My clothes reek of you.**

Apparently that was Dean's equivalent of good morning. Castiel smiled and typed out a reply.

**Me: Good morning to you too, Dean.**

**Dean: Wouldn't say good morning. Had to jerk off three times because everything stinks of you. My cock won't stay down.**

**Me: Your compliments have a tendency to sound like insults.**

**Dean: It was still a compliment though.**

**Me: Thank you.**

**Dean: What're you doing today? Wanna go for drive?**

Castiel's heart sank. He truly wished he could but he had agreed to go out with Adam and with the cocktail party later, he wasn't going to be free all day. . . unless he invited Dean to one or both. Adam wouldn't be too happy though if Dean tagged along and Castiel wasn't sure Dean would like a cocktail party. He would probably view it as something pompous or snobbish.

Biting his lip, Castiel replied.

**Me: I can't. I'm busy today, sorry.**

Ten minutes passed by and Dean still hadn't replied. Castiel reread his text message and fretted that it seemed too much like an excuse, like he was lying. Should he have given more information? He could have gone into greater detail but wouldn't it then have seemed like an elaborate lie?

Castiel scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. He had never been good at dating. Before Dean he had had two previous relationships, neither of them lasting longer than a month. He worried too much, fretted, over thought, over analysed and he was doing it all over again with Dean.

Another ten minutes passed and Castiel was typing out a new text when his phone chirped.

Castiel held his breath.

**Dean: Are you busy right now?**

His eyebrows drew together in confusion.

**Me: No.**

**Dean: Good because I'm outside your dorm.**

Castiel stilled. Surely he wasn't serious? He climbed out of bed, wearing nothing but black boxers, and quietly opened his door, checking to see if the hallway was empty before stepping out into it. He tiptoed down the short flight of stairs to the main living room and trotted to the front door. Dean couldn't possibly be on the other side, thought Castiel. It was too early; why would he get up so early? He turned the catch and carefully opened the door without making a sound. He stopped breathing when he saw Dean standing there in an old t-shirt and jeans, grinning.

"Dean?" he whispered with a pathetic amount of glee in his voice. His heart thundered in his chest.

"Hey, Cas. Gonna let me in?" he said and his smile broadened when Castiel did.

"What are you doing here?" whispered Castiel around a series of kisses that Dean planted on his lips.

"Missed you," murmured Dean, hands sliding up and down Castiel's bare back.

The dancer shivered. "You missed me," he said sceptically, his grin belying his words. He felt giddy with excitement and happiness.

"Fine, I missed your perfect ass," said Dean, kissing him on the forehead. Castiel closed his eyes and revelled in the soft touch of Dean's lips. He enjoyed being kissed on the forehead much more than any normal person should.

"Good," said Dean looking him up and down and nodding approvingly. "You're already undressed."

Castiel flushed with embarrassment, wrapping his arms around his own body. "I've only just woken up."

Dean grinned. "I know." He chuckled. "Dude, your bed head is awesome," he said and pushed his fingers through Castiel's dark hair.

He closed his eyes again, chasing the touch, an involuntary sigh of contentment falling past his lips. Castiel was beginning to wonder at the possibility of reincarnation and whether he had been a cat in a previous life because it was ridiculous how much he loved Dean's petting.

The sound of a door opening and closing cut the thread of his reverie. "Come with me," whispered Castiel. He took Dean's hand and he led him upstairs to his room, trying not to giggle like a girl when Dean pinched his ass on the way up.

Castiel closed his bedroom door behind them and locked it.

"So, this is your—"

Without waiting for Dean to finish, Castiel jumped on him, wrapping his legs around his waist and locking his ankles at his back.

"You like doing that, huh?" said Dean, smirking. His hands were firmly on Castiel's ass and the dancer wriggled a little when stray fingers stroked along sensitive places.

"I like that you're strong," breathed Castiel, kissing him heatedly.

Dean chuckled and walked towards the bed, dropping Castiel unceremoniously down onto the mattress and toeing his boots off. "And I like that you're almost naked." He grinned as he leaned down to kiss Castiel. "But not nearly naked enough," he said and hooked two fingers in Castiel's boxers and slowly tugged them off, planting open mouthed kisses on Castiel's stomach and hips on his way down.

Cool air rushed to the most heated places of his body, namely his aching cock which was shiny and wet with precome at the tip. He looked down at his erection and then at Dean who was also staring between Castiel's legs. Castiel swallowed hard, blushing under Dean's intense gaze. He felt self conscious. Of course Dean had seen him before, held him before, but never spread out on a bed with so much flesh on show.

Fortunately, he didn't have long to worry what Dean was thinking because the welder was already crawling on top of him, urging him backwards and fitting easily between the dancer's welcoming thighs. That he was naked while Dean was fully dressed was an unexpected thrill.

Castiel sucked on Dean's tongue like it was a slice of fruit and the moan he elicited only made Castiel hold on tighter and suck harder. He could already feel Dean's hard cock trapped in his jeans and rubbed against it eagerly.

"Fuck." Dean tore his mouth away to take a breath and Castiel took the opportunity to lick and bite Dean's exposed throat. "Cas, you're gonna be the death of me," he moaned. "You and your fucking mouth."

The pulse point under Dean's jaw was thumping frantically as Castiel sucked a bruise into his skin. Dean rolled them over then, sitting back against the headboard and pulling Castiel into his lap. He met Castiel's eyes then and dragged his gaze so slowly it was like a caress to Castiel's lips. "What else can you do with that mouth, huh?" he breathed.

Castiel blushed deeply, his urgent erection trapped between their stomachs. He had given a blow job once before which was hardly going to be enough experience for Dean but he wanted to try, desperately. It was, after all, one of the first fantasies Castiel had had of Dean.

He scraped his fingers over Castiel's wet bottom lip and the dancer lurched forward and nipped at them, teeth denting the flesh. The fingers pushed inside and Castiel opened up for him, letting the pads rest on his tongue as he sucked and dragged his lips over the tips. Dean was transfixed, his breathing uneven. Swallowing the fingers back down again as if they were a cock, Dean's cock, Castiel watched the way the welder's eyes darkened.

"Christ, you're so fucking sexy," whispered Dean. The awe in his voice had Castiel blushing. "Your lips and, fuck, your eyes, so big and blue..." He replaced the fingers on Castiel's lips with his mouth.

Castiel pushed his hands under Dean's t-shirt, groping the muscles in his chest, the beautiful curves and dips of his shoulders and stomach. He fell into Dean, got lost in the sensations of his touch and the smell and heat of his body. He clung to him, his fingers digging into Dean's back, legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Dean bit down on Castiel's lip, kissing along his throat and just under his ear where he murmured, "You got any lube?"

Fire hot heat flushed Castiel's skin at his words. He was burning up in Dean's lap.

Lips glided over the curve of Castiel's ear. "I wanna finger fuck you." Dean licked the sensitive skin. "Till you come."

Castiel shuddered hard. He hadn't even realised that his hips were undulating, rubbing his cock against Dean's stomach. His hands were damp with sweat where they were clinging to the welder's t-shirt.

The welder's palms slid down Castiel's waist resting hot and heavy on his hips. Castiel reached across to his bedside table, hands shaking as he opened up the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube.

Taking it from him, Dean uncapped it, squirted a hefty amount onto his fingers and drew Castiel close with his left arm. They were nose to nose and Dean's face was a blur. Castiel's hand on Dean's shoulder clenched as a gentle, dripping finger rubbed over Castiel's hole.

He pushed inside and the dancer inhaled sharply. It was so completely different to having Castiel's own fingers in his ass. For one, he couldn't predict what Dean was going to do so when Dean crooked his finger and nudged the place inside Castiel that made his cock throb, it was a shock and only added to the pleasure. Dean's fingers were also larger than Castiel's and as Dean slid a second finger inside there was an immediate burn, one that he enjoyed and made him groan.

Dean's free hand groped Castiel's cock, stroking it with barely any pressure at all. His fingers in Castiel's ass moved just as slow. In and out, in and out, in and out.

Castiel tried to force him to speed up by rocking his hips and thrusting up into the coarse tunnel of Dean's burning hand but the welder wouldn't allow it.

"Dean," he pleaded.

Dean licked Castiel's jaw and stared at the dancer with dark, bottomless eyes. "No." His voice was rough like it had been dragged over sandpaper. "Don't move."

Castiel groaned. The sensations were too much and not enough. Dean's fingers teased and stroked with no pressure at all. It was a slow smoulder of pleasure down below that would never be enough to climax. He looked down between them, at Dean's gentle stroking, at the large hand holding his cock and how his square thumb and blunt nail dragged over the flushed, slick head.

Castiel whined into Dean's neck, his hips aching to move, his balls heavy. Every now and then Dean would squeeze the shaft and his grip would become tighter and his fingers would move faster and push harder, his thumb pressing into his ass cheek, but before Castiel could even hope to reach an orgasm, Dean would slow down again to an excruciatingly steady pace.

Castiel panted, his head resting on Dean's shoulder. It was torture, a wonderful, aching torture. He both wanted it to stop and never end.

Then, Dean added a third finger and Castiel's hips automatically craved to urge it on. "Don't move, Cas," growled Dean. "Don't move."

Castiel did as he was told but it was hard, near impossible. The grip Dean had on Castiel's dick subtly changed. The pace didn't but he held just that little bit tighter and his fingers moved that little bit faster, harder. Castiel moaned, desperate to come. He knew Dean would relax his grip eventually before he could reach it but that didn't stop his body reacting, a slow burning drag towards his climax. He was sweating all over, pressed up against Dean whose clothes were damp with their combined perspiration. He moved to kiss Dean, expecting him to slow down again only he didn't. He carried on. When he kissed Castiel he kept up the steady merciless pace.

It was still slow but it was enough to increase the build of pleasure. Castiel panted harder as neared the finish line. He was going to come. He could feel it. He was on the edge. He just needed a little more just a little more. If Dean stopped or slowed down again. . .

"Don't stop," moaned Castiel. "Don't—don't, oh, God, don't—" His orgasm was ripped out of him with surprising strength. His moan was too loud in the silence of the dormitory but he couldn't help it. He had never experienced such an intense orgasm. It sent his body into shuddering aftershocks as he clung to Dean breathing heavily into his neck.

He felt Dean's hands stroking his hair and a long while passed before Castiel felt ready to move again. His body was lax, completely spent. He didn't even mind the fact that he was wilted against Dean's chest which was covered in come. Etiquette demanded he moved though because he could still feel the heat of Dean's erection. He sleepily fumbled with the zipper and Dean laughed, catching his hands.

"Mm?" said Castiel looking at him through puzzled, fuzzy eyes.

Dean was grinning. He cupped Castiel's face and stroked his cheek. "You look fucking stoned, Cas."

"I think I am," croaked Castiel, squinting at Dean and dropping his hands to his jeans again.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "It's cool. I've jerked off three times already."

"Oh," said Castiel in vague surprise. "I assumed you were joking."

Dean snorted. "No. I get a chubby every time I catch a whiff of you. . . or see you, or hear you. . . or think about you. . ." He shrugged. "Hell, my cock stands to attention if someone says your damn name."

Castiel smiled. "I suppose I would be correct in assuming your cock likes me?"

"Oh, yeah," said Dean, matching Castiel's grin. "My dick fucking adores you."

The dancer laughed and Dean joined him. They lay together for a while longer, swapping lazy kisses. Dean even allowed Castiel to dip his hand into his jeans and jerk him off, adding more mess to his clothes. When they heard the familiar sounds of Castiel's friends waking up, Dean had decided to leave. He kissed Castiel once on the forehead and quietly disappeared.

Castiel stared at his door. Already he missed Dean's company.

"Are you going to tell me who put that smile on your face?" said Ava, after Castiel had showered and dressed. She was standing in his doorway, toothbrush in hand, bed hair looking like a nest on top of her head. "Or will I have to beat it out of you?" she asked with a cheeky grin that Castiel had to laugh at.

"No one," he said as casual as he could muster despite being filled to the brim with happiness and knowing it showed on his face. "I'm in a good mood. That's all."

Ava bit her lip and loped into his room, jumping on top of his bed. "Does this have anything to do with Dean Winchester by any chance?"

Warmth swirled in his cheeks. "No."

Her resulting squeal was painfully high pitched, much too loud for the morning. "I knew it! Tell me everything. You went out with him last night didn't you? Where did you go? What did you do? Are you dating now? Oh! Oh! You should bring him to the cocktail night!" Ava was literally vibrating with excitement.

"Ava, we talked," he explained. "Nothing else happened." Not last night anyway.

"Oh. . ." she said, deflated. "But you like him right?"

Castiel rolled his eyes but he was smiling. "Yes."

"And he likes you?"

"I think so."

Like a two year old given a brand new teddy bear, Ava clapped her hands together in rapid succession.

"It isn't natural that you find so much entertainment in my love-life," said Castiel, shaking his head.

Her face lit up. "It's a love life?!"

Castiel flopped backwards onto his pillows.

~...~

At breakfast he tucked into a bowl of Shredded Wheat while his friends discussed the dance routines featured in the musical "Singin' in the Rain." He looked out for Dean but there was no sign of him in the dining hall.

"Please tell me you're not serious," said Balthazar.

"I'm perfectly serious, Balthy," replied Gabriel.

"Don't call me that."

"Mm, I think I agree with Balthazar. Kelly was good but O'Connor was better," said Ava, licking her spoon thoughtfully. "Didn't he somersault off a wall too?"

Gabriel groaned. "So what?"

"So what? The guy was on four packs of smokes a day and he successfully pulled off two somersaults in the same routine," said Adam. "That is impressive."

"And he ended up in hospital because of it," said Gabriel, waving a peach slice at him. "Not so impressive."

"O'Connor's tap and skate dance in I Love Melvin wasn't awful," said Bela.

Castiel and Ava murmured their agreement.

"Whatever. If it wasn't for Gene Kelly that movie wouldn't have been half as successful as it was. Face it," said Gabriel and bit into a strawberry, "the guy had charisma."

"Urg, you just have a crush on him," said Bela.

"Of course I want to bum him."

"That is _not_ what I said."

"Have you seen what he looked like?"

"'Looked' being the operative word," said Castiel. "How can you have sex with someone who isn't alive?"

"It's called necrophilia and I wouldn't put it past Gabriel," said Adam.

A ruckus at the other end of the dining hall caused the group to look up and fall quiet with the rest of the room. Brady Johnson, a handsome self absorbed dancer a year below Castiel was having another argument with his long term boyfriend, Azazel MacCabe.

In Castiel's opinion, Azazel was the most unattractive boy in the whole of Garrison. He was aggressive, slimy, conniving and a liar. Yet, a lot of students fell under his spell, following him around like lost puppies. Castiel couldn't fathom why. Perhaps it was the confidence he exuded, his willingness to break the rules and his foul treatment of his boyfriend that had them crawling to his side, hoping for a scrap of attention. Whatever the reason Castiel didn't find him remotely enticing and although he disliked Brady he felt a great deal of sympathy of him.

"Looks like Azazel's cheated on Brady again," muttered Bela.

"Why does he stay with that creep?" said Ava.

"Because he's a demon in bed," said Gabriel.

Everyone at the table, including Castiel stared at Gabriel, as though they were waiting for the punch line.

"You didn't," breathed Ava. "Tell me you didn't."

"What? He came on to me, which I can completely understand because I'm me," said Gabriel, "and who am I to pass up on a good time?"

"Gabriel!" exclaimed Ava. "That's Brady's boyfriend."

"So?"

"So Brady is psychotic!" she said and Adam nodded. "I heard he set fire to Azazel's bed when he caught him at it with another guy."

"He broke Meg Masters' wrist two months ago," supplied Bela.

Ava gaped. "Meg was sleeping with Azazel?"

"Who is that woman not sleeping with?" muttered Balthazar.

"Azazel is an asshole!" insisted Ava. "Brady needs a new set of brain cells."

"You can't help who you fall in love with," said Castiel wistfully and apparently, it was his turn to have his friends' attention. "What?" he said when they continued to stare.

"Okay... since when have you been Mr Romance?" said Bela with a raised brow.

Ava was beaming.

"I. . ." Castiel shifted uncomfortably. "I was simply. . .making a statement." He blushed and looked away.

"We should go," said Adam suddenly.

Castiel looked up into his friend's not entirely friendly gaze. "Go?"

"You need shoes remember?"

"Oh. . ." Castiel rose to his feet. "Yes."

~...~

The morning was crisp with a frosty wintry smell that cooled Castiel's airways as though he had just chewed menthol gum. He was sitting beside Adam on an empty bench frowning at his new shoes. There was only one place in the city able suit a professional ballet dancer's needs and that was "Dancing in the Street", a reasonably sized shop in the city centre. It was expensive but the goods were worth the money; their clothing and equipment was second to none. Still, Castiel wasn't happy with his new ballet shoes. They were simply too new. Too shiny. Castiel wanted his old shoes. He grumbled to himself and slapped the lid on the shoe box, stuffing it back into the plastic bag at his feet.

Adam chuckled. "They aren't that bad. Once you break them in they'll be good as new... or good as old, I guess."

"They're ugly," complained Castiel.

"They're quality," responded Adam, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, the rising steam swirling like smoke from a cigarette. "At least they'll last you awhile."

Castiel didn't answer. He stared at the passing shoppers hurrying by in their winter gear and wondered where Dean was. He debated sending him a text but he had seen him only a few of hours ago and didn't want to seem clingy or desperate or irritating or all three.

"Castiel. . ."

He looked at Adam whose gaze was focused on his take-out cup. His cheeks were tinged pink from the cold.

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

Castiel nodded. "Okay?"

His friend pushed out a shaky breath, eyes flitting to Castiel's and back to his drink again. "Do you think. . . maybe. . . you, uh, would want to go out with me? Sometime?"

Staring blankly, Castiel said, "On a date?"

"Uh," Adam forced a laugh, finally meeting his eyes. "Yeah. A date."

Although Adam was clearly embarrassed Castiel couldn't prevent his eyes narrowing in suspicion nor his accusatory tone. "But you're straight."

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe I'm bi?"

Castiel highly doubted that. "Adam—"

"I like you," interrupted Adam. "I like you a lot. And I know I said I was straight but I, I don't know, I was scared. I've never done anything with a guy before and I didn't know for sure, I didn't want to mess you around so I wasn't going to do anything," he babbled, "but then Dean came along and –"

"Dean? What does Dean have to do with this?"

Adam huffed in annoyance. "I know you like him, Castiel."

Irritated by his friend's tone, Castiel said, "Again, I don't understand what Dean has to do with you and your interest in me."

"He isn't right for you," said Adam completely ignoring the question. "You can do better."

A flare of anger sparked hot inside his chest. "And who is better? You?"

Adam's lips thinned. "Anyone would be better than him."

"Just what is your aversion to Dean Winchester, Adam?" snapped Castiel, jumping to his feet. He knew he was contradicting himself immensely by criticising Adam for disliking Dean but he didn't care, he was too angry.

"My aversion?!" said Adam, standing to meet Castiel's eyes. "You hated him first!"

"I don't hate him!" growled Castiel.

"You did though, didn't you?" said Adam. "So what's changed? Dean? Or you?" He moved in close. "Are you going to start walking like an ape, Castiel? Grunting like one too?"

Castiel's jaw clenched.

"Or is it that you're so desperate for sex, you have to resort to someone as low as Dean Winchester to fu—"

Adam's head snapped back as Castiel's fist smashed into his nose. He stumbled and fell over onto his ass, staring up at Castiel in complete shock, blood dripping in a slow stream over his lips.

Castiel flexed his hand, glaring down at him. It hadn't hurt like he had expected a punch would, but he was running on adrenaline and would most likely feel the pain later on. "You can leave without me. I'm walking back." He snatched up his horrible new shoes and stormed away.

"Castiel, wait! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" yelled Adam but his calls landed on deaf ears.

He heard Adam scramble after him. "Castiel!"

Adam grabbed his arm and Castiel tried to fight him off and yanked his wrist out of his grasp but as he did so the bag containing his ballet shoes flew out of his hand and hit an unsuspecting boy on the back of the head. The bag fell to the floor and Castiel stopped breathing when he realised who he had accidentally hit.

"The fuck?" growled the teenager, rubbing the back of his shaven head. He whipped around, narrowed eyes landing on Castiel and Adam and then his gaze fell to the shoe box on the floor and its "Dancing in the Street" logo. "The fuck are you ballet faggots doing throwing shit around?"

Castiel didn't know them by name but he had seen them around. There were seven of them all together, an inseparable group of homophobic cruel bullies who had an unreasonable dislike for Garrison ballet students. Castiel couldn't possibly have caught the attention of anyone worse.

"I'm sorry," said Castiel quickly crouching to pick up his bag but the other boy beat him to it. He ripped the plastic carrier off, popped the lid and pulled out the ballet shoes.

"These yours?" the bully snorted. He handed the shoes over to his friend, muttering something about a dancing fag, and the rest of the group laughed derisively.

Castiel didn't say anything and neither did Adam. They were treading on thin ice. Even if he was willing to leave without the shoes, there was a good chance that the group of boys would still follow him. They were anything if not persistent.

"Where's your tutu?" said another boy, picking up the empty carrier bag and looking inside.

Castiel didn't think it would be wise to point out that male ballet students didn't wear tutus. Speaking up was only going to get him assaulted quicker if that was what they were planning to do.

"They don't wear tutus," said a girl. They all appeared to be around the age of twenty but Castiel couldn't certain since the ratty clothes they wore made them look older. "You wear tights, don't you?" she said, addressing Adam.

Adam nodded.

"Why the fuck don't you wear tutus? You dance like girls so you should dress like them too," said a tall boy. The group chuckled.

"They need to show off their ass to other fags," said another, the boy who was holding the ballet shoes and Castiel watched in horror as he dug out his lighter from his pocket and set the flame on the heel. A slow smouldering hole grew, burning through the material.

"Yeah, can't get fucked otherwise."

"Fucking fags."

"Fucking disgusting."

Castiel's face was red with embarrassment and anger. He had had enough. He just wanted to go home, back to Garrison. He didn't want to hear what else they had to say. Why should he have to wait around and listen to insults just because they were too narrow minded to understand that being a ballet dancer didn't necessarily make him gay. He was gay but that wasn't the point.

"May I have my shoes back please?" Castiel asked with as much strength as he could. He would have to repair them, stitch the hole as best he could. He couldn't afford to buy another pair so soon.

"Sure you can, fag," said the boy Castiel had accidentally hit with his shoe box and who must have also been the leader. He snagged the shoes back from his friend. "But these are dancin' shoes so you've gotta dance for them. Can't give them to just anyone."

His heart was pounding, sweat beading. "Give them back," said Castiel.

"You can have them back, fag," said the boy. "After you've danced for them."

It was clear he wasn't going to hand them over anytime soon and although Castiel hated his new shoes they were expensive and he wasn't going to give them up, not without a fight. He had hit one person already, there was no reason he couldn't hit another.

He stepped forward with the foolhardy intention of wrestling his shoes out of the bully's hands, when a low rumble of an engine interrupted him.

"Ah, fuck," muttered the boy.

A bike pulled up alongside them and Castiel almost sighed with relief until its owner removed their shiny helmet and revealed the blonde welder who had been giving Castiel malignant glares all week. She kicked the stand into place and climbed off. "Want to tell me what you're doing outside The Road House?" she said, fixing the group of bullies with a glare that Castiel had previously been on the receiving end of.

"Relax, Harvelle, we were just talking to our friends here," said the boy with an unpleasant smile.

The blonde, Harvelle, spared Castiel and Adam a glance before turning back to the seven. "Your friends, huh?" she said and Castiel was reminded strongly of Dean. "What're their names?"

There was a brief pause and then, "Fag one and fag two," the boy replied and the group cracked up laughing.

Harvelle wasn't amused. "Get the fuck out of here and give me those," she said, seizing the ballet shoes. When they still didn't go she stepped up close to who Castiel had assumed was the leader with unwavering confidence. He had to give her credit for her bravery. "I said get the fuck out of here," she growled. "Unless you want me to tell my mum you were hanging around outside of her place again?"

The boy's face contorted into a sneer. "Whatever," he said, shouldering past her and kicking the empty shoe box across the street.

Castiel watched them leave with relief and astonishment thrumming through his veins. Of all the people to rescue him, the last person in the world he would have expected was her.

Harvelle turned to Castiel and handed over the shoes wordlessly.

"Thank you," he said unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice and she must have heard it too because she caught his gaze and sighed.

"You might be a dick but you didn't deserve that. Homophobia irritates the shit out of me. And they're the biggest homophobic pricks around."

Castiel wasn't sure what to say to that.

"They're banned from this place," she said, indicating to the bar behind her. "So if they ever give you any trouble again, just walk inside."

"But we're not old enough," said Adam.

Harvelle's smirk was half condescending half amused. "They don't check IDs but if you have any problems just tell them you know me."

"And, uh, who are you?" asked Adam.

Harvelle thrust out a hand. "Jo Harvelle. I'm friends with Dean Winchester."

Adam and Castiel shared a look. It was lucky Jo hadn't heard their earlier argument or she might not have been so quick to help.

"I'm Adam," he said, taking her hand, "Adam Milligan and this is—"

"Castiel Novak," she interrupted, brown eyes piercing. "Yeah I know who you are."

Castiel shook her hand. She had a firm grip. He was tempted to say something, to tell her that he didn't hate Dean anymore, maybe even apologise, but the look in her eye told him she knew a lot more than she was letting on.

"Anyway," she said, breaking their impromptu staring contest, "I've got work to do." She swung a set of keys around her finger. "Stay out of trouble."

Neither of them spoke until they were safely back in Adam's car.

What a day. Castiel had punched his friend, been cornered by bullies, was rescued by an enemy and had another pair of shoes ruined. It wasn't even lunch time.

"I'm sorry for what I said," mumbled Adam, on the drive back to Garrison.

Castiel's fingers tightened on the shoes in his lap.

"I didn't mean it."

"You're entitled to your opinion."

"Castiel, I . . . I don't think you're desperate. The stuff about Dean, yeah, I don't like the guy but I didn't mean what I said about you."

Castiel stared out of the window.

"Castiel—"

"Adam I don't want to discuss it."

Thankfully, his friend fell silent. They arrived at Garrison and Castiel stepped out of the car without waiting for Adam.

~...~

"Something is bothering you."

Castiel looked up from where he was perched on the window sill in his bedroom, book in his lap, to find Anna standing in his doorway with a small smile on her face.

"Anna," he said with sigh. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," she replied, taking a seat on his bed and looking at him with open curiosity. "You have bruises on your neck."

Castiel touched the love bites from Dean self consciously. Heat crept up his face.

"Gabriel seems to think you're having steamy hate sex with Dean Winchester," said Anna.

Castiel rolled his eyes, shutting his book and sliding off the window sill. "They all do," he said as he placed the hardback on the shelf above his dresser.

"Are you?"

Unlike most, if Anna asked a question and an answer wasn't given, she would never push for one not unless she felt it was necessary, Castiel liked that about her, and it was one of the reasons he told her the truth. "There isn't any hate involved."

Anna gazed at him. "So it isn't Dean who's upset you?"

Castiel shook his head. He sat down next to her on the end of the bed. "Adam asked me on a date."

Her eyebrows rose but she didn't comment.

"We had an argument and he said some things..."

"Hurtful things?"

Castiel nodded. "I didn't expect it from him. He's my friend. I never thought Adam would. . ."

"In the heat of an argument everyone says things they regret," reasoned Anna.

"He wouldn't have said it at all if he didn't believe there was some truth to it."

A short silence fell upon them. He listened to the loud chattering downstairs of his dorm friends preparing the drinks for later. Two cocktails and Castiel was going to be completely intoxicated – he had always been a light weight which is why he didn't usually like to drink but, in his current mood, getting drunk was a welcome idea.

"Is Dean coming tonight?" asked Anna abruptly.

"No." He wished he was.

"You should invite him."

Castiel's brows drew together in consternation. "I don't think he would want to come."

"Ask him," said Anna. "You never know."

~...~

Sometime later, after Castiel had mulled over the pros and cons of inviting Dean, he constructed what he hoped was a light hearted text message and sent it.

**Me: We're having a cocktail party. Do you want to join us?**

Dean replied immediately.

**Dean: Don't you posh ballet types have wine and cheese?**

It wasn't funny, not really, but Castiel found himself laughing anyway. He realised again that he missed Dean.

**Me: The butler is away and he has the key to the wine cellar.**

**Dean: I can pick the lock.**

**Me: That doesn't surprise me.**

**Dean: Come and see me.**

**Me: Now?**

**Dean: Yeah. I've got something for you.**

**Me: If it's your penis, I think it can wait.**

Or perhaps not. Castiel was always horny when it came to Dean.

**Dean: HAHA. Not my cock (but it can be if you want). I've got something else for you.**

Castiel pursed his lips in thought. What could he possibly have?

**Me: One dildo is more than enough, Dean, I don't need another.**

**Dean: Where the hell is your mind at?! I'm a bad influence on you.**

**Me: Correct.**

**Dean: Come and see me, Cas. It's not a dildo or a cock. Nothing like that. Come see me. I'll wait at the top of the stairs to my dorm.**

Too curious to wait any longer, Castiel stuffed his phone into his pocket and headed out the door, throwing an, "I'll be back soon," over his shoulder to his friends.

~...~

As promised, Dean was leaning against the wall in the corridor leading to the Colt dormitory, hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. When he saw Castiel his face broke into a broad smile and Castiel returned it automatically.

"Hey," said Dean, grinning. He cupped the back of Castiel's neck and kissed him.

The dancer rested his hips against Dean's, revelling in the slow, warm touch of Dean's hand rubbing up and down the small of his back. Castiel snuggled into the heat of Dean's body, fingers clutching the hem of his t-shirt, holding him in place.

"You have something for me?" said Castiel cautiously.

Dean snorted. "No need to sound scared, Cas," he said but then he seemed to shift uncomfortably. "Don't think anything of it, okay? It's nothing and it's . . . they're second hand. I just saw them and thought you'd like them."

Castiel shook his head. "I don't understand."

Dean sighed, a blush staining his cheeks. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and, very tightly squashed in his fist, were a pair of worn black ballet shoes. They weren't shiny, they were dull, roughened and used. They were broken in like his new shoes hadn't been. There were no tears, no serious damage to speak of, just creases and scuffs. They were soft and beautiful and most importantly they were Castiel's size.

He didn't know what to say. He was overwhelmed by emotion. No one had ever done anything so wonderful for him before. Suddenly his day didn't seem so awful. The cruel words that had affected him so washed away.

"Hey," chuckled Dean, touching Castiel's face. "They're just shoes."

It was then that he realised a few tears had escaped. He sniffled, feeling ridiculous. "Thank you, Dean," he said with as much gratitude and appreciation as he could stuff into the sentence.

Dean frowned. "You okay?" He stroked Castiel's arm, ghosting over his cold, bare skin with his heated palm and warming Castiel through to his core.

"I've had a bad day. . ." he mumbled.

"That sucks," said Dean. "It's gonna get better though."

Castiel's lips twitched into a smile. "It is?"

"Uh huh," said Dean, smirking. "We're going to go to your wine and cheese thing—"

"It isn't wine and cheese."

"—and then we're gonna fuck like bunnies! Can't get much better than that, right?"

~...~


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

~...~

"Fuck me... no more Blow Jobs."

Gabriel pouted. "Just one more?"

"Hell no," groaned Dean. "Tastes like shit."

"I like it," said Ava excitedly. "I can swallow it all in one go!"

"Swallowing it without gagging doesn't mean that you like it," said Bela.

"Ava just loves to swallow, don't you, sweetheart?" said Balthazar.

"This conversation would seem highly unorthodox if someone were to hear us," commented Castiel. He lolled his head back to try and see Dean upside down and chuckled when the welder blew on his face. He was perched on Dean's lap, straddling his knees with his back to him so he could see the table of cocktails.

Castiel had expected it to be awkward with Dean there especially after Adam had asked him out and at first it was. Dean had strolled into the dorm, taken a seat and pulled Castiel into his lap while everyone, bar Anna, stared at them with wide eyes. After the initial round of questioning, however, such as, "Are you two dating?" and, "How the hell did this happen?" and Gabriel's completely inappropriate, "Is he big, Castiel? I bet he's huge isn't he?" the awkwardness had evaporated. Even Adam appeared to be having a good time though occasionally his smile was obviously forced.

The full story of what had happened earlier in the day remained between Adam and Castiel. He was surprised Adam hadn't told any of their friends the real reason for his sore nose but he supposed there might have been some embarrassment and guilt for him and he probably wanted to keep his alleged feelings for Castiel a secret which Castiel was perfectly happy with. Castiel had told Anna and he was certain she would keep it to herself so there was no reason to tell anybody else, not unless Adam created a fuss or was unnecessarily rude to Dean which he wasn't, he was pleasant, perhaps a little quieter than usual but not enough for his friends to question it.

"Cas is smashed," said Dean, stroking the top of the dancer's head.

Castiel chuckled again and made a long, "Mmmmmm" sound at the feel of Dean's fingers pushing through his short hair. His face was flushed with the warmth and merriment of alcohol and his brain felt mushy like someone had stuck it in a blender.

"We know," said Balthazar, drinking a deep pink cocktail. "His vocabulary reaches no bounds when he's had a few too many."

Castiel swung his legs playfully watching the blur of his sock clad feet bumping into the sides of Dean's shins. His hands were resting on Dean's knees between Castiel's legs so he could lean all the way forward and watch his feet move in greater detail but something tugged him back.

"You're gonna fall, Cas." Lean arms threaded around his waist and he was pulled into a very hot, hard chest. Castiel's stomach swooped. "I think I'd better convince him to go to bed," said Dean.

"Won't take much convincing," said someone but Castiel didn't bother to see who because he was too busy nuzzling Dean's neck.

"C'mon, Cas."

And suddenly Castiel was standing. At least that's what he thought he was doing. It was difficult to tell with the rest of the world spinning faster than he could comprehend. He staggered forward and arms caught him again.

Well, that was rather handy, thought Castiel. Would they always catch him?

When he couldn't place one foot in front of the other, the ground suddenly disappeared and he was in someone's arms. Frowning, he studied the side of his captor's face and realised it was, "Dean!" Castiel exclaimed and then he groaned. "Dean, I'm feeling extremely vertiginous."

"Anyone wanna translate that?"

People were laughing though Castiel didn't know who. "He means he's dizzy," said someone.

"Dizzy. Right. Should've guessed that," huffed Dean and they were moving again.

"Night Castiel!"

Castiel peeked over Dean's shoulder to see who had spoken. He spotted his friends and smiled. "Goodnight!" he sang.

Wait. . . why was he going to bed? He wasn't even tired. A huge yawn escaped him without his permission and he had to concede that perhaps he was a little sleepy.

He closed his eyes for a moment only for them to snap open again when he sank into something very soft. He blinked up at Dean in the darkness, reaching for him. "You're going to," he yawned, "stay here?" asked Castiel.

Dean gently pulled off the dancer's jeans. "Sorry Cas. Need to sleep in my own bed."

Castiel heard himself complain but he wasn't sure what he had said.

Dean laughed quietly. "I could say anything to you right now and you wouldn't remember it, would you?"

"I would," replied Castiel, already drifting off.

"Alright," whispered Dean and there was a smile in his voice. "Then I'll let you in on a secret. . ."

~...~

The next morning Castiel awoke to a violent headache and a delicate stomach. He groaned and rolled over, away from the daylight pouring thoughtlessly into his room. He dreaded to think about the combination of drinks he had consumed the night before.

"You awake, Castiel?" said Ava through his bedroom door.

Castiel grunted.

"We're going down to breakfast soon." The door creaked open and she looked inside, giggling at his prone form. "Look at the state of you," she said with a shake of her head. "Come on, get up and you can have some breakfast."

Snuggling down into his duvet, Castiel muttered, "No. I'm staying in bed."

"Come ooon! They're serving bacon today."

"Staying in bed."

"Is he awake yet?"

"He says he's staying in bed."

"Get your pert ass out of bed, Castiel," shouted Gabriel.

"Go. Away."

The patter of footsteps leaving his room had him sighing with relief into his pillow. He was just drifting off again, happy to spend his hangover sentence in deep sleep, when a noise so impossibly, earth shatteringly loud had him leaping a foot in the air.

"GAAH!" Castiel scrambled to a kneeling position, clutching his pillow to his chest, heaving in lung fills of oxygen.

Gabriel was hanging off Ava for support, they were both cackling like a couple of hyenas, and in his hand was a bright red air horn.

Anger rose fast and hot. "GABRIEL!" boomed Castiel.

There were tears in his friends' eyes they were laughing so hard. "You should have seen—" He couldn't catch his breath. "—your face, Castiel."

"I'll show you a face!" snapped Castiel, racing out of bed.

Gabriel and Ava quickly fled and the three of them stampeded downstairs into the main living room, running past a bewildered Anna.

In one quick lunge, Castiel threw himself at Gabriel and they fell onto the sofa fighting furiously to pin the other down. They rolled onto the floor, Castiel managed to straddle him and then beat him over the head with his pillow. Gabriel was still giggling so he beat him harder.

"Hah...hah..." panted Gabriel once Castiel's energy had depleted. "You're so not an early birdie!"

Was it any wonder Castiel hated mornings?

~...~

Later that day, after Castiel had recovered as much as possible from his hangover, he went to meet Dean at the entrance to Garrison. They were planning to take another drive and Castiel was looking forward to it. His belly was churning with excitement as he bounded down the stairs to the ground floor but he was stopped abruptly in his tracks by an unsmiling Adam.

"Where are you going?" said Adam, slapping a hand against Castiel's chest.

Frowning, Castiel stepped back out of his reach. "I'm going to meet Dean."

"It'll be past curfew in half an hour. You're not allowed to leave the grounds."

"They don't lock the gates until nine."

"They'll do it earlier if they know students are sneaking out past curfew," said Adam snidely. It sounded very much like a threat. The Adam Castiel knew wasn't someone who would talk to a teacher behind his back but this was a different Adam, one he didn't like.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Castiel.

Adam's eyes flashed. "After what you pulled? You deserve a little payback."

Castiel squinted in confusion. "I didn't 'pull' anything."

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit. The same day I ask you out and you bring fucking Winchester to our dorm? Crawling all over him, in his lap, making out with him?"

The truth was it had never occurred to Castiel that Adam would take it as an insult but, really, that wasn't his problem. He was going to be with Dean around his friends anyway whether Adam liked it or not and Adam needed to get used to that.

"I only wanted to be with Dean. I didn't do it to spite you," said Castiel. "I'm sorry if you thought that."

Adam laughed humourlessly. "Sure."

"Why are you being like this?" asked Castiel. He could hardly recognise Adam. He had known him for six years and not once had he ever seen this side of him and it scared Castiel because this person, Castiel didn't know.

"Being like what? Angry? Oh, I'm sorry has no one ever been pissed at you? Do you get away with everything?"

Castiel stared into his malignant gaze and shook his head. "I have to meet Dean."

"And I told you it's nearly past curfew," said Adam, snatching his arm and preventing him from leaving.

He looked down at the strong grip he had on Castiel's bicep and then up into Adam's eyes. "Let me go." The "or else" hung silently in the air. Castiel was far from a weakling. If Adam wanted to throw threats around then Castiel was more than willing to add his own into the mix.

Thankfully, Adam took heed to his fury laced words and dropped his arm, shouldering past Castiel on his way upstairs.

Castiel watched him go with a frown.

~...~

"You took your time," said Dean smiling. Castiel accepted his kiss but he didn't do very much to return it and Dean noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Adam. . ." he replied and went on to explain everything that had happened between them, including the encounter with Jo. Needless to say, Dean wasn't best pleased.

"What the fuck?!"

"Dean, calm down."

"Some assholes burn your shoes and your douche bag of a friend is giving you threats and you want me to be okay with that?!"

"Preferably, yes."

"The little shit," growled Dean. "Just 'cause he wasn't man enough to make a move before I got here, he thinks he can make a claim now?"

"Dean, I'm not a prize. Adam wasn't—"

"Fucker. I should tear him a new one before he gets any ideas."

Castiel rubbed his forehead in exasperation. This was exactly why he hadn't told Dean. "Can you please desist with the caveman impression? I can look after myself. Adam is. . . annoyed with me. That's all. He'll get over it."

Dean snorted. "He'd better." He folded his arms across his chest. "If he gets anymore ideas about threatening you or asking you out again, make sure you tell me."

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I don't think Adam will be asking me out anytime soon. At the moment he hates me."

"Yeah. Right. Because feelings he's probably had for you for years are just gonna..." he wiggled his fingers, "disappear."

It was both comical and irritating listening to Dean's over protective ranting. "There's no need to worry about anything," said Castiel, sliding his hands underneath Dean's leather jacket. "I'm with you."

"You're mine, huh?"

"That isn't quite what I said."

"No, that's what I'm saying," said Dean, grinning and drawing Castiel in close to his body.

Automatically, Castiel found himself smiling back. There were jumping beans in his belly again. He tilted his head to brush his lips against Dean's. The kiss was slow and warm and Castiel melted into it.

When Dean broke the kiss he looked at Castiel with an expression the dancer couldn't read. "Do you remember much of Saturday night?"

Castiel chuckled. "Not a great deal," he said but then his stomach dropped and he looked at the welder sharply. "Did I do something embarrassing?"

Dean smiled, shifting his eyes to somewhere over Castiel's shoulder. "No."

Castiel tried to catch his gaze but Dean wouldn't look at him. "Then what. . ."

"C'mon," said Dean. "Let's get out of here for awhile." He threaded his fingers through Castiel's and tugged him towards the Impala. Nothing more was said of Saturday for the rest of the night.

~...~


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

~...~

Castiel found as the days went by that he had reached a kind of happiness he had never thought possible. He and Dean were wonderfully content and, ironically, hadn't argued since their first drive away from Garrison. The trips became a regular thing though they were extra careful to keep a constant eye out for Adam.

Adam hadn't said a word to Castiel after their confrontation and his continuous ignorance of Castiel didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the group. By Wednesday, the truth finally came out and Castiel told his friends exactly what had happened between them. It also became evident that Adam had confided in Balthazar, of all people, and had discussed with him his feelings for Castiel.

They were between classes—Ava, Castiel and Balthazar—standing in the corridor when Balthazar turned serious. "You upset him," he said, with a surprising amount of sorrow in his voice. "What did you expect? He's liked you for years and when he finally scrapes up the courage to ask you out you punch him in the face—"

"Hey, that was deserved!" interrupted Ava.

"—and just to rub salt in the wound, you're all over Dean in front of him." Balthazar shrugged – another uncharacteristic gesture. Castiel was beginning to think he didn't know any of his friends all that well. "Adam has a right to be angry."

Ava, who was quite noticeably on Castiel's side, stomped her foot. "But he called Castiel desperate! That's hardly romantic is it?!"

"Adam called him desperate because he's dating Dean and, let's be honest here," said Balthazar, "Dean 'I-eat-from-a-trough' Winchester isn't grade A dating material."

Castiel's mouth snapped open to protest but Ava beat him to it. "Dean is a great guy! He's gorgeous and sweet and funny and Castiel is happy with him! And in case you've forgotten, Balthazar, Castiel is your friend! So you should start acting like it instead of bitching about his boyfriend just because he doesn't wear Armani and prefers beer to wine!"

Castiel and Balthazar watched her stomp away in her tiny ballet shoes and tutu with equally shocked expressions.

"Hell hath no fury..." muttered Balthazar.

~...~

It was a truly rare occasion when Mr Tapping handed out a compliment and Castiel was mightily pleased to receive one during rehearsals. According to Mr Tapping, he was "finally expressing the correct amount of exuberance for the Nutcracker" (but his arms could be straighter).

The Christmas performance was looming fast. In two and a half weeks time it would be opening night and Castiel and the rest of the Garrison students would have to perform before hundreds of people. It was both nerve wracking and exciting and the atmosphere within Garrison was filled with anticipation. Castiel loved it. Nothing compared to showing off months of hard work to an enraptured audience. And the applause at the end? Spectacular.

He weaved through the crowded, stuffy corridor after rehearsals to escape outside. He needed some fresh air and some time alone was always appreciated. Occasionally Castiel felt stifled if he was perpetually in the company of others. A moment of silence did wonders for his focus and helped to calm him, expelling any stress he had been carrying without knowing. Quietly, he sneaked around to the back of the kitchens out of view and sat down on one of the benches the staff used for cigarette breaks. Castiel hugged his knees to his chest to keep the heat in. The air was frigid but it was refreshing, nipping at his ears, nose and cheeks.

Someone snorted and Castiel looked up.

"Thought it was just me that knew about this place," said Jo, sitting down beside him. She tapped out a cigarette and held it between her lips while she searched in her pocket presumably for a lighter. Her work clothes were stained with oil and grime and Castiel could smell the metal without even trying. He eyed the cigarette between her lips dubiously.

She raised her brow. "Gonna rat on me?"

Castiel shook his head and stared out across the frosted grounds. There was no wind to speak of. No movement at all. If it wasn't for the chatter and the clanging of pots and pans coming from the open windows to the kitchens Castiel would have found it eerie.

"Dean thinks it's disgusting," she said, cupping a hand over the lighter while the end of the cigarette smouldered from the flame. "But I don't care." She blew out a stream of smoke and Castiel watched it drift away. "I only have one every now and again, anyway." She smirked at him. "Not enough to kill me."

Jo's heavy boots were on the floor. She had one foot on the bench, elbow resting on her raised knee while the other tapped the cold concrete. Her socks were pink and stripy and for some reason Castiel found himself smiling because of it.

"So what's the deal with you and Adam?"

Castiel's smile disappeared. "Does Dean tell you everything?" he grumbled.

"Dean tells me nothing. Not with his mouth anyway."

The dancer looked at her and she grinned.

"He's like an open book if you know what to look for," said Jo. "I've known Dean for years so I'm pretty fluent in Winchester-speak."

"How did you two meet?"

"He ran over my cat. Bastard."

Castiel looked up in surprise and Jo chuckled. "He stole one of his dad's cars when he was eleven and took it for a joy ride. This beat up yellow and black mustang." She grinned, taking another drag of her cigarette. "He went speeding down the road and rolled right over the damn cat. You should have seen his face," she laughed, "he was shitting himself. Didn't care that he was gonna get his balls cut off for stealing the car he was just worried about the fucking cat. He brought it to my house all teary eyed and apologetic." She chuckled again. "Not that I gave a shit when there was a hot boy standing in my doorway."

Castiel frowned.

"Relax," she said, smirking. "I had a crush on him once and who could blame me? I was kid and he was gorgeous – is gorgeous. Unfortunately he's completely fucking gay too."

"You don't have feelings for him now?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm not stupid. I've done my time pining. Besides, he's like a brother to me now. Even if he was straight I wouldn't want him."

Castiel had trouble believing that. Who wouldn't want Dean Winchester?

"Anyway, I'd better get back," she said and flicked her cigarette away. "Nice talkin' to ya, Cas."

~...~

Once the school day was over, Castiel stayed behind with a few other students to practice. The pressure was on to perfect their routines and there wasn't room for an ounce of laziness or procrastination.

At nine PM Castiel toppled face first onto his bed. His socks were glued to his feet with sweat and blood, his t-shirt and tights were like a second skin and he was dreading trying to peel them off with his bone deep exhaustion.

He had over done it. His classmates had warned him not to practice for too many consecutive hours without a break but he had refused to leave until his moves were fluid and absent of mistakes.

On his bedside table his phone whistled and in the silence of the room it was like a bird singing to the sunrise. The one eye that wasn't squashed against his pillow squinted at the device and he mumbled a complaint. His arm was like a led weight as he snatched the phone from its place and read the text.

**Dean: You been hiding? I haven't seen you at all today.**

Castiel smiled despite his fatigue and weakly urged his thumbs to tap in a sufficient amount of letters. He was so tired he didn't care that his grammar and spelling were horrendous.

**Me: Sorry. Bin dancing.**

**Dean: You dance everyday and "bin"? Are you drunk again?**

Castiel laughed but because of his exhaustion it had a hysterical edge.

**Me: Are you coming over?**

He replied with more effort, rolling onto his back to use both hands.

**Me: Because I need to see you.**

**Dean: You need to see me? That sounds ominous...**

**Me: You know what ominous means?**

**Dean: Yep. I have a dictionary right here in my lap.**

Blushing, Castiel bit his lip as he typed out a particularly flirty text message.

**Me: Can I be in your lap instead?**

**Dean: You can be in my lap anytime, Cas. Is that why you need me? Urgent lap sex?**

**Me: No. Not sex.**

**Dean: Way to shoot me down in flames.**

**Me: I need you to help me take my clothes off.**

**Dean: Hello boner! I'll be there in 5 minutes.**

~...~

"Christ, what the fuck happened to your feet?" said Dean, closing the door behind him and locking it. Castiel had asked Dean to let himself in because he couldn't move or more specifically he didn't want to move.

It went against everything Castiel thought he prided himself on but sometimes when he was with Dean, he couldn't help acting childish or more vulnerable than he actually was because he knew that Dean would embrace him, comfort him, protect him and it felt good knowing that someone was looking after him. He didn't like how submissive he could be but it felt too good to pass up, therefore he had no qualms about the pout he was wearing. "I overdid it," Castiel whined.

Dean huffed – a hybrid of a snort and a laugh. "No shit." He moved to the side of the bed and threaded his fingers through Castiel's when the dancer raised his hand. Dean chuckled, leaning down until they were close. "Look at you feeling all sorry for yourself," he murmured against Castiel's lips.

A smiled stretched the dancer's mouth. "I think you should make me feel better," whispered Castiel, fingering Dean's soft hair and drawing him in for a kiss.

"Mmm, I can do that..." Dean made to climb on top of him but Castiel put a hand on his chest, halting.

"In the shower," said Castiel. "I smell bad."

"You smell awesome," replied Dean, nuzzling his neck and paying absolutely no attention to Castiel's attempts to push him away.

"Dean. I smell like sweat."

"Mmm.."

Castiel clicked his tongue. "You like the smell of sweat?"

"I like the smell of you."

"Are you telling me I always smell of sweat?" said Castiel with a frown.

Dean laughed and drew back to look at him. "You're such a fucking girl." He sighed. "C'mon, princess, let's wash your hair."

"I'm not a princess," muttered Castiel but he allowed Dean to tow him to his feet and into the en suite bathroom. It consisted of a white sink, toilet and a shower in the corner which was sectioned off by a glass screen – Garrison didn't believe in shower curtains – and the entire room was sparkling as though it was going to feature in a magazine. Dean looked around the small shiny white space. "This is the cleanest freakin' bathroom I've ever seen."

Castiel yawned hugely, swaying on his sore feet. "That's because you're an ape and apes don't care for personal hygiene," he slurred.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned the shower on, steam blooming from the hot spray. "Okay, Mr Comatose, lift your arms up."

"Dean, my feet hurt," complained Castiel as his t-shirt was peeled away and thrown on the floor.

"Yeah, I know, Cas," he replied and crouched down to carefully take Castiel's socks off one at a time. The dried blood snagged painfully on his blisters but it was a massive relief to get them off and out into the open air.

Shamelessly, when Dean slipped Castiel's tights and underwear down, he ran his gaze over the dancer's naked body and smirked when he caught Castiel's eyes. Dean stripped too –too fast for Castiel's liking—and guided them both under the hot spray.

Castiel shuddered when the water hit him. He pushed his hair back from where it was slick against his forehead and turned to face Dean in the tight space. The shower stall was just big enough for the two of them though Castiel wouldn't have minded if it wasn't. Another excuse to press up against Dean's naked body was always welcome. And what a beautiful body it was.

Castiel's hands glided over the smooth planes of Dean's torso, stroking his fingers over two sandy coloured nipples and into the dip of his navel. His cock was hard, curving up towards his belly just like Castiel's. Looking at Dean, at his wet, kissable mouth and his soft green eyes that held so much affection, much more than Dean would ever say, Castiel felt a strong surge of possessiveness. He suddenly wanted to know who else had touched Dean like he had and who else had Dean wanted like he wanted Castiel? His heart ached with the knowledge that Dean had been with someone else, had wanted someone else. It was ludicrous and he knew that but he couldn't help it.

Something prodded between his eyebrows, smoothing out the crease there, and when he looked up Dean was smiling. He dropped his hand and said, "Showering doesn't take that much brain power, Cas."

Castiel forced a smile but thankfully Dean took his blatantly failed attempt at cheeriness as fatigue. He kissed Castiel on the lips and picked up the shampoo bottle from the small shelf.

"L'Oreal, eh?" he said, checking out the label. "And there's me thinking you washed your hair in liquid gold or something."

"We're rich here at Garrison, Dean, but we're not that rich."

They washed each other and pleasured each other, using their soap slick hands to smoothly glide over the most sensitive places of their body until they came. They dried off, Castiel dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, Dean back in his clothes, and returned to Castiel's bedroom.

"Don't go," said Castiel when Dean picked up his jacket.

He chuckled. "I can't stay, Cas. If someone sees me coming out of your dorm in the morning—"

"Stay for a while," said Castiel hopefully. "We can... talk."

Dean raised a brow, a smile pulling his lips. "Talk?"

"Please?"

"All right," said Dean without much persuading. "But I'm going as soon as you fall asleep."

"I'll stay awake."

"Sure you will..."

They lay down together and Dean pulled Castiel against his chest, legs tangling. Castiel tucked his head under Dean's chin and clutched his t-shirt with both hands in case Dean had any ideas about sneaking away. Just to be sure he hooked his leg over Dean's hip.

"So... what do you wanna talk about?" murmured Dean, his throat vibrating against Castiel's face.

"Past relationships." Nerves were swirling in Castiel's stomach as he said it and he was glad he couldn't see Dean's face.

Dean laughed softly. "Why do I get the idea that you've been thinking about this?"

"Because I was very specific."

"It was a rhetorical question, Cas."

"Oh. . ."

"What do you want to know?"

Castiel's face heated. "How many. . . others have there been?"

"Others? You mean boyfriends?" Castiel nodded and Dean must have felt the motion because he replied, "Hmm, only two."

"And you. . ."

"Fucked them? Yeah."

An unwelcome stab of pain jolted his stomach. "You. . .you liked it?"

"Yeah, of course I did."

It had been a stupid question but an unavoidable one all the same. Castiel had had a tiny hope that for some unknown reason Dean hadn't enjoyed it. But that was ridiculous because it was sex and sex always felt good.

"Cas, what's up?" said Dean, trying to tilt his head so he could look at him but Castiel burrowed in closer to Dean's body and wouldn't allow it. The welder sighed. "Are you worried about something?"

"No," said Castiel into Dean's neck. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay."

"Jo told me you ran over her cat."

There was a tiny pause and then Dean burst out laughing. "Oh shit, when did she tell you that?"

"Today."

"I hope she told you that it survived too 'cause I'm no killer! The damn thing was sitting in the middle of the road. I didn't see it because all my tapes had fallen over..."

~...~

Castiel was disorientated when he faded back to reality. He realised he must have drifted off and it took a moment to work out where he was and who was talking.

"—never been good about saying what he's feeling either. Just can't put it into words. Doesn't want to I guess."

It was Dean and he was whispering. Castiel kept his breathing soft and even and listened.

"He told me he talks to my mom in her sleep. Tells her everything he can't say to her while she's awake. And it works too. I can tell you I love you without worrying about what you're gonna say or how you're gonna react. I can say it as many times as I want. There's no shit that comes with it. No pressure. I can just. . . tell you. I don't have to justify it or tell you when or why or how. I can just fucking say it. And I need to say it. I have to. Because. . . fuck, Cas. You drive me fucking crazy. I think about you all the time. I want you all the time. It's like you're burnt into my mind. And when I look at you and you're looking at me with those huge fucking blue eyes, I wanna tell you but I can't. I just. . . can't."

Dean sighed into his hair, his hot breath soaking into the top of Castiel's head.

Never would Castiel have thought for one second that Dean loved him and never would Castiel have believed it if Dean had said it to his face. But in the warmth of Dean's arms and hearing the deep unquestionable sincerity in his voice, even through Castiel's sleep fogged mind, he could tell it was true.

Castiel waited for Dean to speak again but he didn't, for a good long while he was silent, and it was when Castiel heard Dean's slow lengthened breaths that he realised his boyfriend had fallen asleep.

~...~


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

~...~

On Friday Castiel was pleased to discover that the Colt Welding School repairs had been delayed until after Christmas, meaning Dean wouldn't be leaving until at least the New Year. It also meant that he would be able to see Castiel perform in—

"The Nutcracker?" Dean chuckled as he leafed through the pamphlet advertising the show. "Hey, there's you," he said and held up the picture of Castiel completing a Grand Jeté. "You look hot..." he added, admiring the photo.

"I'm not supposed to look hot," Castiel pointed out. "I'm supposed to look professional." He bit into an apple. "The public are paying good money to me dance," he said and licked his lips. "Well, myself and the rest of my year that is."

Dean hummed, eyes on the dancer's mouth. They were outside during lunch. Dean was perched on an old stone wall separating the thick woodland area from the highly refined school grounds and Castiel was standing between his knees. "How much would it cost for a private show?" He waggled his eyebrows in a very Gabriel-like fashion.

Castiel laughed. "You'd pay to have me perform The Nutcracker just for you?"

"As long as you're dancing," said Dean, rubbing the backs of Castiel's thighs. "I just want to watch you wiggle your ass for me."

Castiel's cheeks flamed but he was smiling. "You're incorrigible."

"Yeah but you love it."

"I do," said Castiel, leaning down to kiss him.

~...~

"Now at the barre please. Show me the strength in your muscles. I want to see their strength. It has to be an attack. Again. Maestro if you please—Annnd one, two, three, four, attack, attack, attack. One, two, three, four—"

The tinkling tune of the piano faded into the background while Castiel robotically repeated the movements: strong, strong, swing, swing, attack, attack, attack. Ballet was an endless endeavour to reach perfection while knowing perfection could never be reached – at least not according to his teachers; there was always room for improvement.

But for once Castiel's mind wasn't on improvement or the demi-plié he was holding, it was on Dean which was no surprise since Dean had been on his mind the moment he woke up and discovered him fast asleep at his side.

He hadn't looked too closely at how he felt about Dean for fear of jinxing what they had if Castiel put a name to his feelings. Now that he knew how Dean felt, however, he was more at ease and even excited about their relationship. They had slipped into it easily as though they had always been a couple. Dean was fast becoming—if not already—a part of Castiel's life that he didn't want to lose. When addressing the question, "Did he love Dean too?" the answer was clear.

"Watch your arms, Castiel!"

"Yes, miss."

Of course he loved Dean. How could he not? For someone like Castiel, who fell in love at the drop of a hat, it was a given but there was also a strong connection between them both that had been automatic and if it hadn't been for Castiel's preconceptions it would have been instantaneous.

~…~

While walking back to his dormitory once classes had finished for the day, Lisa Braeden caught up to him. She smiled kindly. "Here you go, Castiel," she said and handed him a thin white envelope. "Anna asked me to give you your ticket."

An immediate embarrassed flush flooded his face as he took it from her. "Oh, yes…um, yes, thank you," he babbled, avoiding her gaze.

"Just one was it?"

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck. He still wasn't looking at her and he hated being rude. "Yes."

"Okay, well, keep it safe," she said and thankfully left him alone.

He expelled a weighted breath and brushed his thumb over the smooth envelope. The fancy script on the ticket was visible through the slightly opaque paper.

Those who were performing in the play were allowed a certain number of tickets – free of charge – to give to friends and family. Anna usually took control of this and he had been hoping to keep it quiet that he had wanted a ticket. In all his time at Garrison he had never asked for a ticket for a performance. The whole school was aware of it, even his teachers, which is why it had been embarrassing to receive one now because it meant that Castiel was giving the ticket to someone special, like a boyfriend.

Castiel sighed.

"That was a deep sigh."

He looked up to find Adam walking towards him.

"Is that for Dean?" he asked, indicating to the envelope in Castiel's hands.

"What do you want, Adam?" said Castiel. He wasn't in the mood for an argument.

Adam's expression changed from indifferent to sheepish. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't… I don't like this, Castiel. I don't like not talking to you. You're my friend and… I miss it."

Castiel stared at him.

"I know what I said was wrong," his friend added quickly. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for … you know…for everything." He was looking at Castiel hopefully like a puppy begging for scraps and the sight softened him.

"I'm sorry too," said Castiel.

The resulting smile Adam gave him was worth forgiving him. His shoulders relaxed, losing their rigidity and, as they walked to their dormitory together, slipping back into their old, easy friendship, Castiel found a weight was lifted from his heart that he hadn't known he was carrying.

~…~

"The bahh?"

"No, the barre, it's pronounced bar."

"Yeah, that's what I said. The baahh."

Castiel squinted at him. "You sound like a sheep."

Dean laughed, his thumbs tapping away to the music playing softly in the background. "Anyway, where do you wanna go? I was thinking we could go up that hill again. It's a pretty clear night and all the stars'll be out."

"The stars are constantly "out", even during the day."

"Okay, smart ass."

They caught each other's eyes and chuckled.

"I'll go wherever you want to go," said Castiel.

The embankment they had climbed on their first trip away from Garrison together was icy from the recent rainfall and low temperatures but Castiel was light on his feet and knew how to balance his weight unlike Dean who had already fallen flat on his face twice before they reached the top.

When he fell for the third time in a flamboyant and, to be honest, utterly hilarious way, Castiel had to clutch his side from laughing so hard.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," said Dean, staggering to his feet.

"Thank you, I will," chuckled Castiel.

Dean glared at him but there was a smile forcing its way into his lips. "Look, I'm a welder," he said and snatched Castiel's hand. They were finally on even ground and Dean was able walk normally instead of dancing about avoiding the worst of the ice. "Welders can't ice skate."

"You don't need to ice skate, Dean, you just need to walk."

"Yeah, well, I can't seem to do that right either," he grumbled. There was a melancholy note to his words that Castiel almost commented on. It took a lot for Castiel to question Dean on how he was feeling though because he knew that Dean didn't like to talk about it. So he stayed quiet.

They stopped in a similar place that they had before, except this time it was more sheltered under a tree and they had a broken boulder to sit on. Castiel kept his side firmly pressed into his companion's and Dean slung an arm over his shoulders. Garrison was just as beautiful as it had been the first time and Castiel could have stared at it all night but he had other things on his mind. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and removed the envelope.

"I've brought you your ticket," said Castiel, showing it to Dean.

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "My what?"

"Your ticket?" Castiel's heart thumped. Dean had absolutely no idea how much this meant to him. For the first time in his life he could invite someone to a performance. "For The Nutcracker?"

"Oh…uh," Dean's laugh was forced, "Yeah, uh, I was thinking I'd give it a miss, Cas, sorry." He dropped his arm from the dancer's shoulders.

It was as though a rock had lodged itself in Castiel's throat. "You won't. . . go?"

"I just… it's for family and friends, you know. It's something your parents are gonna see. It's not my thing. I'm the gorilla remember?" He chuckled but Castiel's heart was racing.

"Dean, please, I want you to go," he begged. He kept the desperation out of his voice with difficulty.

Dean groaned. "Cas… how's it gonna look if I go? I don't even own a tie! I'd have to rent a suit."

"Then rent one!" exclaimed Castiel, standing up. "I don't understand why you won't go. I want… I need you to go, Dean. _Please_."

His boyfriend sighed, getting to his feet too. "Cas, don't be pissed. I don't want to go, okay?"

"Why not?!" yelled Castiel. "You're my boyfriend and I'm playing a lead role in a performance I've been practicing for weeks if not months!"

"Cas, seriously." Dean held up his hand. "Don't make me feel fucking guilty, alright? Because that's not fair."

"Not fair?! You won't spend a couple of hours watching The Nutcracker because you don't want to wear something smarter than an overused t-shirt and oil stained jeans and you think I'm being unfair?"

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "That's it, that's why I don't want to go to some mother fucking fancy-ass show because you and every other fucker in there are gonna judge me, Cas!"

"No, they won't!"

"Yes, they will! And I'm not sitting around waiting for your fucking parents to show up just so they can judge me too! I'm not stupid Cas, as soon as they get an eyeful of me they're gonna make you ditch me. Don't think I haven't been waiting for it!"

"They're not going to judge you, Dean."

"Don't bullshit—"

"Because they're not alive," stated Castiel simply.

Dean's face went blank with shock. His dropped jaw was comical but Castiel didn't feel an ounce of humour.

"I'm an orphan. I don't have family. I don't have distant cousins, aunts or uncles. I don't have friends beyond school." Castiel took a deep breath. "Outside of Garrison I have nothing." He spread his hands helplessly. "I became emancipated from my adoptive parents at fifteen when I found out my inheritance was being used without my permission. I moved into a small apartment on the edge of the city. I spend the summer there because I have to but not because I want to. Garrison is my home. It's where my friends are. It's where you are."

Dean shook his head. "Shit, Cas. I didn't think—"

"No, you don't think. You just assume."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said Dean, anger sparking in his eyes. "I fucked up, yeah. I didn't know about your parents but don't start acting like you're innocent in all this. You thought I was beneath you the moment you met me."

"And I was right wasn't I?" said Castiel snidely.

Dean's face set. He shook his head. "You know what?" He held up his hands in surrender. "Fuck this and fuck you," he barked as he walked away.

"That sounds about right because that's all you want to do isn't it? Fuck me," growled Castiel, stomping after Dean.

"Whatever, Cas. You're just saying this shit to piss me off and I'm not in the fucking mood."

"You're never in the mood to talk!" vented Castiel at his back. "Because you're afraid! You have to talk to me while I'm asleep just to tell me how you feel!"

Dean halted. "You heard me?"

"Of course I heard you!"

Dean spun around to face him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't _you_ tell _me_?"

"Why?! Because I shouldn't fucking have to!"

"Yes, that's right, I forgot, you never do anything you're not obliged to do."

"Just fuck off, Castiel. I've had enough."

He made to turn his back on him again but Castiel lashed out and grabbed his arm.

"Get off me!" snapped Dean, shoving Castiel hard in the chest. The force of it made him stumble. Had they been further down the road and not at the slippery top of the hill, Castiel would have been able to right himself, as it was, he lost his footing, skidded on a particularly icy patch and fell. In an attempt to regain his balance he stuck his foot out but, because they were on a slope, he landed on it awkwardly and the following crunch and violent shudder of pain made his heart leap.

Castiel tumbled down the hill, stopping a few feet short of the parked Impala. Panting hard, Castiel ripped his shoe off regardless of the pain and stared at his foot. Panic flooded through him with all the force of a stampede. The crunch had been an indicator but the feel of his snapped metatarsal was undeniable.

He had broken his foot.

"CAS!" Dean skidded and dropped down to his knees beside him. "Cas, what—"

"You broke my foot," whispered Castiel. "YOU BROKE MY FOOT!" he screamed.

~…~


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

~...~

"Get away from me," said Castiel quietly. He was sitting at the side of the road, hunched over, hugging his knees and clutching his phone tight.

"Cas, let me take you to the hospital, please, you can't sit there."

"Adam is coming."

"It's been an hour! He's probably lost. You need to go to the hospital."

A hand touched his shoulder and Castiel jerked violently away. He glared up at Dean through thick tears. "Touch me again and I'll break your hand," he whispered hoarsely.

Dean visibly flinched. His face twisted with hurt and Castiel felt a moment of mean satisfaction.

Good.

He wanted to hurt him. At least, that's what he was telling himself. In reality the pain in Dean's eyes was mirrored in Castiel's heart; an unavoidable reaction.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut so he didn't have to look at him, so he could have the illusion of hating him and laid his head on his knees, rocking gently. He would miss the Christmas performance. He wouldn't be able to dance for weeks. Weeks. What was he going to do? How could he possibly stay in shape? How was he going to cope? Dancing kept him sane. How was he going to keep from going crazy?

Dancing was everything to him and of all the people to take it away, if only momentarily, he never expected it to be Dean.

Twin headlights cut through the darkness and Castiel lifted his head at the sound of tires crunching down the road. The driver's side door swung open and the silhouette of Adam appeared. Castiel let out a breath of relief.

"Castiel?" called Adam, jogging over to him and crouching down, completely ignoring Dean. "I'm so sorry I'm late. This place was hard to find."

Adam's eyes were full of pity and Castiel didn't want to look at them. "Can you help me up please?"

"Yeah, of course."

With Adam's help Castiel was able to pull himself into a standing position. He kept a good grip on his friend's shoulders as he gingerly hopped to the car and climbed inside. Before he could shut the door however, Dean was there, holding it open. He leaned down so he could look Castiel in the eyes.

"I said I was sorry, Cas."

Castiel turned stubbornly away.

"There isn't much more I can do," added Dean and when he slammed the car door shut, Castiel's eyes stung hot with tears.

~...~

_One week later..._

February. He would have to wait until February to dance again. His fifth metatarsal was broken, snapped. His right foot was in a cast and he had been given a walking boot and crutches which he had barely used at all since he had returned from the hospital.

Castiel was sitting in bed, naked from the waist up and one hundred and three pages into War and Peace. He had finished three novels over the past week and even for an avid reader like Castiel that was quite a feat. His bedside table and floor were littered with plates and takeout containers. His room was the most cluttered it had ever been and although it was beginning to grate on Castiel – his perfectionist nature itching at him – he couldn't bring himself to start cleaning. Be there an infestation of rats and other critters in the half empty pizza boxes, he wasn't getting out of bed.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," called Castiel without taking his eyes off the page he was reading.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come down for dinner with the rest of us," said Anna.

Castiel spared her a glance. "No, thank you," he said and she sighed.

"Are you determined to stay in here forever?" she complained, stepping over some of the mess to sit at the end of his bed.

"I don't plan to stay in here forever," he said and turned the page, "only until my foot has healed."

"You know what I meant. You haven't talked to any of us in days."

"I have nothing to say."

Anna pursed her lips. "Castiel, you need to get out. Get some fresh air, talk to people, interact..."

"I don't feel like it."

War and Peace was suddenly whipped out of his hands and Anna was looking at him sternly. "You need to stop moping," she said, saving his page with a bookmark and laying it down on his bedside table.

"Anna, in case the cast wasn't any immediate indication to you, my foot is broken. I think I have every right to mope."

"Dancers break their bones all the time. It's the hazards of the job."

"Well, this is one hazard I'm going to mope over." Castiel reached for his book again but Anna caught his wrist.

"If you don't leave this room right this second I'm going to drag you out of it."

Castiel measured the seriousness in her expression and huffed. "Fine. I'm going to shower but I'm not going to dinner. I'll..." he waved a hand, "sit outside."

Seemingly satisfied, Anna nodded and let go of his wrist. "Not perfect but definitely an improvement. Have you seen Dean lately?"

Castiel shook his head.

"He's –" began Anna.

"I don't care how Dean is," snapped Castiel. "I don't care about him."

Anna raised her brow. "You don't care that he has a new boyfriend?"

"What?" he exclaimed. It felt as though his stomach had dropped through the bed.

She chuckled. "He hasn't really."

"That wasn't funny," he grumbled, picking at the fluff on his duvet.

"I thought you didn't care?"

Castiel gave her a look. He wished he didn't care but it was obvious that he did and to make matters worse, he missed Dean.

"Why don't you go and see him? Every day he's been trying to see you. It might be nice to return the gesture," suggested Anna.

"He broke my foot."

"It was an accident."

"He pushed me."

"That was a mistake."

"Not all mistakes should be forgiven so easily."

"And not all mistakes should be punished so harshly. Two wrongs don't make a right, Castiel."

"Two wrongs?" said Castiel in disbelief. "I haven't done anything to wrong him! _He_ wronged _me_!"

"Unintentionally. But you... you've said some cruel things to him, Castiel..." replied Anna, her eyebrows furrowing. "Dean isn't as solid as you think he is. Your words can hurt. I've never heard you be so..."

Castiel felt a brief surge of embarrassment and shame. He had argued with Dean a couple of times on the phone to persuade him to stop ringing and knocking on his dormitory door and he had said some things which went way beyond hurtful. But he had been angry. He was angry. He wanted to punish Dean even if it meant hurting himself in the process. "You've heard me talking to him?"

She smiled wanly. "These walls aren't the thickest," said Anna and then she sighed. "Dean has a good heart. He deserves a second chance and there's no need to punish yourself because you want to punish Dean."

Castiel shook his head. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't," admitted Anna. "I don't hold grudges or hate people. It's... too exhausting."

"Ever the saint," said Castiel with a wry smile.

"Well, _obviously_." She sat up straight and flicked her hair playfully. "I wasn't picked for Head of House because of my pretty face."

"According to you," said Castiel.

Anna laughed. "According to me," she agreed.

~...~

Castiel took Anna's advice but he left a little later, minutes after six, and hobbled one at a time down the lengthy Garrison steps until he was outside in the fresh air. He decided to sequester himself in his usual place behind the kitchens. It was, after all, the closest and the safest. He doubted taking a stroll through Garrison grounds would be a wise decision in his condition, especially with his precarious balance. A good gust of wind could topple him over and he would be stuck like an overturned tortoise.

As he rounded the corner, behind the school, he slammed into something very warm and very solid. Luckily, large hands shot out and gripped his biceps before he could fall over for the second time; the last thing he needed was to break his other foot too.

"Castiel Novak," said a quiet, amused voice.

Castiel peered up into a pair of clear blue eyes and smiled. "Lucifer," he exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Lucifer replied and chuckled. "Shouldn't you be inside resting?"

Castiel staggered to the bench and sat down. "Anna seems to think I need to get out more."

"Hmm, I don't think she meant on your own," he said, sitting down beside him. Lucifer had left Garrison three years previous and was a professional ballet dancer. Some lessons included the partnership of professional dancers with students and it was one of Castiel's favourite methods of learning. Nothing surpassed physically interacting and dancing with the best and Lucifer was one of them.

"I don't think I'm good company for anyone at the moment," said Castiel.

"Yes, I noticed the permanent frown."

"I'm not frowning," said Castiel and purposely relaxed his tensed facial muscles.

His companion slanted a look at him, smirking. "You look gormless now. Perhaps the frown was better."

Castiel laughed. "I didn't come out here to be insulted."

"No?" said Lucifer, chuckling too. "Why did you come out here then? I presume you're not a smoker."

"A smoking ballet dancer?"

"It's not unheard of."

"No," said Castiel, a small smile on his face. "I came out here because it's quiet. I'm sick of the... pitying looks they're all giving me."

Lucifer nodded. "I know what you mean."

A second of thoughtful silence passed, enough time for a flurry of cold wind to push through his hair.

"Have you been replaced?"

"Yes," said Castiel bitterly. "By Kevin Tran. He knows my part better than most."

Lucifer placed a comforting hand on his forearm and their eyes met. "It isn't the end of the world, Castiel. There will be other parts to play. If I can help with anything—"

"How about you get your fucking hands off my boyfriend? That'd help."

Castiel's heart tripled its pace, his stomach twisting with nerves and excitement. He hadn't laid eyes on Dean in a week, only a week, and yet Castiel drank in the sight of him like a drowning man gasping for breath.

The welder was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, spiky hair golden blonde in the setting sun, eyes dark in the low light. Want powered through Castiel like a rushing river, sweeping away all traces of his anger until there was nothing left but lust. He wanted to be angry, he did, it felt as though it was his duty to angry but he couldn't even muster a spark of annoyance.

"Excuse me?" said Lucifer.

"I said, how about you get your fucking _hands_ off my fucking _boyfriend_, you fucker," said Dean slowly, deeply.

"Dean," said Castiel and he was aggravated with how breathless he sounded. Dean's eyes snapped to his and Castiel's tummy leapt. "Dean, I'm not your boyfriend."

"Sorry, Cas, I didn't get the memo," said Dean, unconcerned. "Wanna tell your friend to fuck off so we can discuss it?"

Dean was being unforgivably rude to someone Castiel admired and still he couldn't rally any anger. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try though. "Don't talk to Lucifer like that," said Castiel and he truly hoped it wasn't spoken as weakly as he suspected.

"It's all right, Castiel," said Lucifer calmly. "I'll leave you two alone." He paused as he stood up and looked down at Castiel significantly. "That's if... you want to be left alone with him?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I'll be fine," said Castiel. "Thank you."

They were silent until Lucifer left.

"Dean, I'm not yours," said Castiel. "You can't chase away every man I talk to just because you're jealous."

"Yes, I can and you are mine," said Dean, dropping down on the bench next to him and slinging an arm across the back. Castiel recoiled from it; he needed space.

"No, I'm not," Castiel grated out. He wished he could get up and storm away but he had a very strong suspicion that Dean would drag him back.

"I don't remember you dumping me," commented Dean casually.

"Really? I do. It was directly in between you refusing to watch me perform and breaking my foot."

"You never said it was over."

"I told you I hated you."

"Not the same thing."

"Yes it is."

"You don't hate me."

"Yes I do."

Dean looked at him. "No, you don't, Cas. You want me just as much as I want you."

If Castiel had been a bird he would have ruffled his feathers in annoyance but he wasn't, so instead he grumbled nonsensical words under his breath and crossed his arms.

There was a short pause and then, "Do you wanna jerk me off?"

Castiel was scandalised. He stared at Dean, open mouthed and furious. "No I do not!"

Dean sighed. "Really? Because I've been sporting a raging boner for the past seven fucking days."

"Most normal teenage boys masturbate. Why don't you try that?" he muttered. Why couldn't Castiel's dick hold a grudge? Why did it have to immediately take interest at the mention of Dean's cock?

"I don't come as hard if it's not you who's jacking me off."

Castiel fidgeted. He was half hard already and wearing sweatpants. If his dick took anymore interest it was going to be blatantly obvious to Dean. Castiel figured it was best to make his escape now before things got out of hand.

The dancer stood up on his wobbly legs and reached for his crutches.

"Where the hell are you going?" said Dean.

"I'm leaving." He tried to stumble past Dean quickly and almost fell but the welder caught him around the waist and dragged him onto his lap. Castiel plopped down right on his thighs and Dean yanked him backwards against his chest.

"Dean!" yelped Castiel. "Let me go!"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"Dean! Let. Me. Go!" demanded Castiel. He tried to prise Dean's hands away but his grip was like iron on Castiel's waist. The dancer kicked his legs and wriggled and fought but still Dean didn't budge. He was a rock beneath Castiel.

Finally, out of breath, a week's worth of inactivity catching up to him, he stopped flailing, his chest rising and falling heavily. His head fell back on Dean's shoulder. He was angry that he wasn't furious with Dean, he was upset that he had missed Dean so much and he was terrified that only when he was with Dean did he feel comforted and safe which was hugely ironic but the warmth at his back and next to his cheek where the side of Dean's face was settled against his, was like a comfort blanket and he sank into it.

"I've missed you, Cas," whispered Dean next to his ear. "I've missed you bad. So bad it hurts. And I'm sorry. Really fucking sorry. I need you. I need you so much. I need you like I need air. I never meant to hurt you and I swear I'll make it up to you. I'll go wherever you want me to go, okay? You want me to watch you dance and I will. I just didn't..." He sighed. "I just didn't want anyone to think less of you 'cause you were dating me. That's why I didn't want to go."

"No one would think less of me," said Castiel. "You're not beneath me. You're. . . important."

Dean's lips touched his temple. "Will you forgive me?" he murmured.

Their eyes met. Castiel's heart throbbed. His fingers slid through Dean's short, soft hair and he kissed him.

~...~


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

~...~

Rivulets of water slid down Dean's naked body gracefully, slipping over his pectoral muscles, dipping into his belly button and snaking down his thighs. He was massaging shampoo into his hair and the soapy bubbles were making their way down his arms and dripping off his biceps. Even soft, Dean's cock was big and merely an hour before Castiel had been touching it. The dancer's eyes took in every part of Dean's body, committing it to memory, while the welder himself was completely unaware. Or so Castiel thought.

"You never struck me as a peeping tom," said Dean with a wolfish grin.

Castiel, who was perched on the closed lid of the toilet seat, continued to stare. "My foot is in a cast. There isn't very much I can do. Didn't you ever see Rear Window?"

"Sounds like a porno," said Dean, washing the soap out of his hair.

"It's an Alfred Hitchcock film and I don't think he directed many sex videos."

"Shame. He's got the name for it."

"Alfred?"

Dean grinned. "Hitch_cock_." He turned the shower off and stepped out, snagging a towel from the hook and drying himself off. Castiel watched with interest.

"You turn everything into sex, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," said Dean, "because sex is awesome." Once he was finished with the towel he tossed it on the floor and Castiel looked at him pointedly until Dean sighed and hung it up again.

"Don't you think sex is awesome?" said Dean, sauntering, naked, over to Castiel and pushing his fingers through his dark hair. He was almost eye level with Dean's cock. Castiel couldn't avoid looking even if he tried.

"Hand jobs are enjoyable," said Castiel which was technically all he could agree with since they hadn't done much more than that. He framed Dean's hips with his hands and kissed his navel.

Dean snorted. "Enjoyable. You need to loosen up your vocab, Cas. Mmm..." he sighed when Castiel's tongue traced his hip bone. "You know what's even more enjoyable?"

"No," murmured Castiel against Dean's damp, scented skin.

"Blowjobs."

Castiel's breath caught in his throat. He had been waiting for Dean to ask him for one and he had been anxious about doing it. Dean's warm fingers slipped down his neck and cupped his jaw, tilting Castiel's face up until he had to look into Dean's dark eyes. His thumb grazed Castiel's cheek. "You gonna suck my cock, Cas?"

Heat, like a bolt of lightning, shot through Castiel. "I-I'm not very good," he stuttered, a blush blossoming in his cheeks.

"Oh, you'll be good." He took Castiel's hand and fastened it around his leaking erection. "I bet you'll be real fucking good," breathed Dean. With his other hand, he pressed into the back of the dancer's head and urged him forward until Castiel's lips were millimetres away from the hard length. "C'mon, Cas...suck me off."

It wasn't that Castiel didn't want to, because he did, very much so, but he wasn't experienced and he didn't want to disappoint. However, Dean was urging him, practically demanding it, therefore he had little choice but to throw caution to the wind and take his first tentative taste of his boyfriend.

The initial lick to the head was salty and bitter but it tasted better than he remembered. Dean groaned long and quiet when Castiel massaged the tip of Dean's cock with his tongue. Pleased by his reaction, Castiel took him into his mouth, careful not to let his teeth touch, and sucked, swirling his tongue over the shaft and the head.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it," whispered Dean, his hips thrusting his cock deeper into Castiel's mouth.

Unsure of his gag reflex, Castiel pulled off, dragging his lips over the head and sucking like he would a lollipop. There was saliva dripping down his chin but he ignored it in favour of stroking Dean's cock with a tight grip. He could hear how heavy Dean's breathing was, mixed in with murmured words of praises and curses.

Proud that he had elicited such a reaction, Castiel slid Dean's thick cock past his lips again, mouth stretched wide, and sucked. He created a rhythm with his hands, lips and tongue listening to Dean's reactions and responding to them.

It was only as he was getting into it and letting his anxiety slip away that he realised how sexy Dean looked, standing before him naked with his cock in Castiel's mouth. The sounds he was making were worthy of any porn film and the weight of his silky dick on Castiel's tongue was sexier than he could have imagined. His own erection throbbed whenever a new sluice of precome spurted into his mouth.

He cupped Dean's balls gently, coaxing, rubbing. Dean's hands were everywhere, in Castiel's hair, on his neck, over his shoulders. Castiel could tell Dean was close when the words he was spewing turned into grunts and his heavy breathing became open mouthed panting.

"Fuck, fuck... Cas, I'm gonna..."

Taste flooded Castiel's mouth and although Dean had warned him it was still a surprise. He swallowed down as much as he could but there was a lot of it and some dripped down Castiel's chin. He licked Dean's cock clean only removing his lips when Dean touched his hair softly.

"Jesus, Cas," breathed Dean.

Castiel ran his tongue over his own lips and wiped his chin on the back of his hand. "Was it good?"

Dean groaned. "You've got no idea."

The dancer grinned, unable to contain his pride; he was practically glowing with it. It shouldn't have made him so happy to have pleased Dean but it did. He felt like a puppy that had just been taught to roll over.

"Now..." said Dean, sinking to his knees and smirking. "Let's sort you out, huh?"

The angry thud of something hitting the wall prevented Castiel from answering. They shared a look. "What was—"

"YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH THIS?! I KNOW IT WAS YOU! I KNOW!"

The voice was penetrating and screeched through the walls as though, whoever it was that had spoken, was in the same room.

Dean was dressed before Castiel could scramble to reach his crutches. When they finally made it into the living room, it was crowded with Brady, two students he vaguely recognised and the rest of Castiel's dormitory friends.

"I know it was you!" cried Brady. He was being restrained by the two Castiel didn't know, scrambling madly to get to Gabriel who shrugged and said, "No idea what you're talking about."

"LIAR!" screamed Brady.

"Will you please calm down!" insisted Anna, moving to stand in between the wriggling Brady and Gabriel. "Or I will be forced to –"

Before anyone could stop him, Brady lashed out. His fist connected sharply with Anna's face and blood spurted from her nose. She stumbled backwards into Gabriel, the pair of them falling over like dominoes.

"Get him out of here!" yelled Castiel to Brady's classmates. He may have been on crutches but he also had a pair of long metal poles at his disposable and he wasn't afraid to use them. But the students who had followed Brady into Castiel's dormitory seemed just as startled and worried as the rest of them and lost their grip on Brady.

Now that he was free, Azazel's furious boyfriend dashed towards Gabriel but Dean intercepted him and fisted a hand in Brady's shirt, yanking him to a halt. Brady's eyes flashed with pure rage. He tried free himself but it was like he was wrestling with a tree trunk. Castiel knew only too well how hard it was to climb out of Dean's grasp.

"HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME!" screamed Brady. "GO BACK TO YOUR WHORISH BOYFRIEND YOU PIECE OF—"

It was almost robotic the way Dean cracked him in the face once, Castiel heard the crunch from where he was standing, and Brady crumpled to the floor completely unconscious.

Everyone stared in shock. The only person who was completely at ease with the whole situation was Dean who just shrugged at Castiel and made an "oops" gesture.

Typically, it was Gabriel who broke the stunned silence. "I think Dean needs to learn how to bitch slap."

"We certainly wouldn't have an unconscious student in our midst if that was the case," said Balthazar.

"Someone inform Miss Moseley," ordered Castiel. "And get a wet cloth for Anna's face."

Ava rushed to her bedroom, up the stairs, while Gabriel headed for the door.

"Not you!" called Castiel irritably.

"I'll go," said Bela, after she had helped Anna sit down on the sofa. She hurried out of the dormitory without a backwards glance.

~...~

Perhaps it was too optimistic of Castiel to hope that Dean wouldn't be punished for rendering Brady unconscious. He was landed with another week of detentions with Mr. Walker and, as Miss Moseley perpetually repeated, his punishment would have been much worse if Brady hadn't been in the wrong to begin with.

Apparently, Anna's broken nose was third strike against Brady – he had been responsible for two other assaults before that– which meant that he was immediately expelled from Garrison. Castiel had never heard of anyone getting expelled from their ballet school before and, although Brady had deserved it, he was shocked that it had happened now.

"I told you he was psychotic, Gabriel," said Ava the next day. They were all sitting in the living room together. Castiel snuggled into Dean's side and tugged his boyfriend's arm tighter around his waist. Dean was warm and big and cosy; it made him sleepy.

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically. "Pleaaaassee," he groaned, slumping down in the armchair. "I really don't want to hear any 'I told you so's."

"What happened, Gabriel?" said Anna.

"You just had to sleep with Azazel again didn't you?" said Adam.

Gabriel actually appeared remorseful. He looked at Anna. "I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd find out."

She smiled weakly in reply. Her split nose had a butterfly stitch over the bridge and there was some vibrant bruising around the same area. "It's not your fault."

"Have I stepped into a parallel universe? Of course it's Gabriel's fault!" said Balthazar. "If he wasn't sleeping with everyone in Garrison—"

"I haven't slept with everyone in Garrison!" exclaimed Gabriel.

"No, you're right. As far as I know you haven't slept with me," retorted Balthazar.

"Or me," said Bela indignantly.

"Like I would want to!" yelled Gabriel.

Castiel rubbed his temple. "Calm down everybody." Beside him, Dean chuckled and kissed the top of his head. His thumb had found its way under Castiel's t-shirt and it was rubbing back and forth below the waistband of his sweatpants. It was incredibly difficult to concentrate with Dean's wandering hands.

"It's no one's fault but Brady's," said Ava.

"Exactly," said Anna. "As far as I'm concerned it's a good job he was expelled before he caused some serious damage."

The rest of the group murmured their agreement except Dean who laughed. When they all looked at him in askance he said, "Just because he's gone doesn't mean he isn't coming back. I've seen guys like him before. Few nuggets short of a Happy Meal and a fuse ready to blow. The guy wants revenge and he's gonna get it." Dean shrugged. "Whether he's in school or not. Rules don't apply to someone like him."

Castiel frowned. "Brady is a ballet dancer, Dean, not an ex-Navy SEAL.

"Hey, I'm just saying the guy's sitting on an awful lot of rage," he said, holding up a hand. "And I think you should expect the unexpected."

When Castiel went to bed that night and the day's events swirled through his mind, he thought that perhaps Dean was right. Brady _was _capable of plotting something though what kind of revenge he was going to take, Castiel could only imagine.

~...~


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

~...~

The first thing Castiel noticed upon being dragged out of a deep sleep was that it was difficult to breathe; his chest was tight and painful as though he had been holding his breath underwater for too long. He was also warm, too warm for a winter morning. But the third and probably the most alarming change he noted was the strong smell of smoke. It was then that he heard the blaring screech of the fire alarm.

Castiel bolted up right in bed and was horrified to discover that his room was clogged with smoke. Panic was swift. He ripped off his duvet, cursing his broken foot and moved as fast as it was possible to go with a pair of crutches and a heavy cast to his bedroom door but he jerked his hand sharply away when he wrapped it around the fire hot handle. The metal was scolding and much too hot to touch.

Heart pounding in his ears, he snatched a shirt from his wardrobe and dropped it over the handle, managing to prise it open with shaking fingers. Castiel stumbled into the smoke filled hallway. His was the first room in the corridor of doors. At the foot of the stairs there was a terrifying orange glow coming from the vicinity of the living room.

"Castiel!"

He whipped around.

Ava had appeared from her own room in much the same state as Castiel; half dressed, hair a mess, eyes watering and an item of clothing hiding the lower half of her face.

"What the hell are you doing?!" shouted Gabriel who was gathered with the rest of his friends. "This isn't the time for a town meeting! We have to get out of here!"

"Let's hurry," said Anna, leading the seven of them single file, with Castiel at the back since he was the slowest, down the hallway.

The living room was in flames, long licks of yellow fire eating through the furniture and expelling great billows of smoke. Castiel couldn't walk with his crutches and hold his shirt up to his face at the same time so he had to drop it. His lungs and eyes were burning from the fumes.

Something exploded, (was it the television?), and Ava screamed.

"Hurry up!" shouted Castiel since they had all stopped moving. He could see they were scared, like cornered sheep darting away from the snapping jaws of a wolf. Castiel was scared too but he was aware of just how much danger they were in and how little time they had left and that was enough to cancel out his fear with adrenaline.

They darted through the flames shrouding the door and Castiel wasn't far behind but suddenly there was a loud creak, metal and wood groaning under the intense heat. At first he thought it was underneath him. Maybe it was shock but the loud snap above had him jerking to a halt, keeping as still as possible like he was standing a frozen lake that had begun to crack.

He looked up. His friends were almost out. Ava glanced back over her shoulder, terror widening her eyes. "CASTIEL!" she screamed.

The floor above came crashing down.

~...~

_One hour previously..._

Being a welder was great. He lifted heavy metals and equipment which meant he was always in good shape and sometimes he got the chance to be creative, working out puzzles and thinking up genius solutions to difficult repairs. Dean was good at it and he enjoyed it but he hated how coarse it made his hands. Cas had never mentioned his rough skin before so he figured it didn't bother him but still... the texture of his hands was just another difference between them to add to their already growing list.

Cas had soft skin everywhere but his feet. His feet were battered. Dean had never seen anything so bad. He didn't understand why anyone would torture themselves for the sake of dance... or art or whatever it was considered to be. Cas pushed himself really hard and Dean didn't get it but he supposed it was a passion and any passion was worth having. Except a passion for killing or raping or something sick like that. Nothing crazy. Then again Dean thought having a passion for stamps was crazy so maybe that wasn't a good enough rule. To each their own as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. Yeah. Dean nodded. That was it.

Beside his bed, on the floor, his phone vibrated. He scooped it up hoping to see Cas's name but he doubted it would be him since it was past 2AM. He was right. It was Jo.

**Bitchy Blonde: Guess who I've just seen sneaking across Garrison grounds.**

His first thought was Cas but, again, he doubted it. Dean gave her a speedy reply.

**Me: Santa?**

**Bitchy Blonde: Brady.**

Dean sat up in bed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He knew that bastard wouldn't have been able to stay away. He had thought it would take him a while longer to plot his revenge though.

**Me: The little shit. What was he doing?**

**Bitchy Blonde: God knows. He had something big in his hand. Didn't see what.**

Dean frowned. What could he have been up to? Figuring it was best to text Cas just to make sure he was okay, Dean typed a quick message and sent it. While he waited for a reply, he asked Jo what she was doing out so late. It wasn't unusual, she was a night owl, but he was curious.

**Bitchy Blonde: Smoking.**

Dean snorted.

**Me: The fuck are you doing outside? The fire alarms suck at Garrison. They won't know you're smoking.**

**Bitchy Blonde: Couldn't sleep. Needed some air.**

**Me: Nightmares?**

Ever since Jo's father died she'd had bad dreams. Sometimes they were so bad she would wake up sweating, her skin feverish. Dean knew because he had stayed over at her house numerous times. He'd wake up too, hear her panting, and her eyes would be wild, expression terrorised as though there was a scream on the tip of her tongue. The nightmares had waned as she had gotten older but occasionally they came back. She pretended they didn't but Dean always knew when she'd had a rough night.

**Bitchy Blonde: Just couldn't sleep.**

Without warning the fire alarm screamed through the walls and Dean's first reaction was to laugh.

**Me: Did you set the fire alarm off?**

When she didn't immediately answer he grew a little worried.

**Me: Jo?**

His phone began vibrating: a call. He picked up.

"What?"

_"Dean, the fucking place is on fire! Get out!"_

Dean was stunned. He stared blankly at his beige bedroom wall. He didn't know why it was occurring to him now but all of the walls in his dormitory were such boring colours. Why beige? Why not blue? Or green? Hell, he'd take pink. "What?"

_"Fire! There's a fucking fire! Get out! NOW!"_

Dean licked his bone dry lips. "Wait... what? Where?"

_"THE SCHOOL IS ON FIRE!"_ screeched Jo.

Dean started moving then. "Where is the smoke coming from?"

_"What?! Dean, get your fucking ass out of there!"_

"Just answer me!" he shouted as he jogged out of his room. The rest of his classmates weren't in the slightest bit worried; they'd survived more than one fire in the past. He pushed past them, feet moving faster. "JO!"

_"The East side."_

"Shit." Castiel's dormitory was on the East side.

_"You better not be doing what I think you're doing."_

"His foot is busted."

_"Dean, leave it to the fire fighters! He's probably already out!"_

"He would have called me."

_"DEAN, DON'T YOU DARE!"_

"I'll call you when I'm a hero."

_"DEAN, NO!"_

He snapped his phone shut.

~...~

Castiel came to. For a moment, barely a second, he had thought it was all a dream but then the flames came into focus and everything raced back to him in startling clarity. He tried to move out from the rubble he was trapped under and a pain, so sharp and powerful it ripped a cry of agony out of his chest, tore through his body. Gasping in lung fills of smoke, tears in his eyes he touched his thigh gingerly. A long thick splinter, like a spike, had forced itself into Castiel's flesh. The half of his mind that wasn't stationary with shock ran over first aid procedures. Was he supposed to take it out or leave it in? Would he bleed to death if he removed it? Could he make a tourniquet?

But then, like ice cold water on summer warm skin, he realised it was his left leg that was injured. It didn't matter if he somehow managed to find a way out of the fire swollen living room, he couldn't walk.

Castiel slid backwards on his bum, dragging himself out of the mess and stared around at the flames licking closer. The stairs up to the dorm rooms were still intact but that meant nothing. He couldn't walk. He was going to die. He was seventeen years old and he was going to die.

Like most people he had assumed, or rather hoped, that he would die warm in his sleep at the age of ninety. Castiel had never thought in his wildest nightmares that he would die in a situation like this. There was no calming effect, no gentle acceptance that this was it, this was the end. Castiel was terrified and in pain and worst of all, utterly alone.

~...~

Flying up the stairs three at a time, darting past the few stragglers who were slow to make it out of the dorms, he bumped into Castiel's friends. His heart leapt but when he scanned the sooty panicked faces, he couldn't see Castiel.

"Dean!" cried Ava, grabbing the front of his t-shirt. "Dean, he's trapped! I t-tried to turn back b-but the floor! It g-gave way and blocked the door!"

Dean was reasonably calm given his situation. Sure his head was light from the sheer panic but he was still standing and wasn't crumpled in a sorry mess on the floor.

He was running back the way he had come before Ava could say anything else. If the door was blocked then he would have to get to Cas through his bedroom window. That was doable. Garrison had old-world window ledges wide enough to walk on. If he could maybe climb out of a window on the third floor corridor he figured he might be able to get to Cas's room. That's if it wasn't already up in smoke.

As it turned out the third floor had a total of zero windows that opened wide enough to allow Dean to pass through. He didn't bother searching for another. He picked up a chair instead and threw it at the stain glass window looking out over Garrison grounds. A cacophony of screams and shouts greeted him as he peered outside. He was a good distance off the ground. The whole school were down below along with two police cars and a fire engine. _One_ fire truck? Really?

He glanced down at the distance to the ground again and cringed. "Shit," he muttered and stepped out onto the ledge.

~...~

Whether it was his body's sheer refusal to die or his own healthy amount of will power, he didn't know but Castiel had managed to drag himself to the foot of the stairs and was crawling up them one by one.

The fire was hot - obvious but the temperature in the room had reached boiling point, an excessive amount that Castiel hadn't believed it was possible for a human or any other living creature for that matter to stay conscious in. He still hadn't passed out from the smoke which he thought was a small miracle though he supposed it had something to do with the fact that he had been close to the floor for almost the entire time.

Tears were streaming down his face as he pulled himself up the steps. There was so many. How many times had he walked up and down these steps to his dorm room carelessly? Had there always been this many?

Castiel reached the second step from the top but suddenly he was exhausted and his fight left him. There hadn't been a slow decline in his energy. It had been sudden. Like a depleted battery, he lay there. Nose pressed into the rough beige carpet.

Was this it? This was it.

"I'm going to die," he croaked.

"Not today, Cas," said a voice he never thought he would hear again and he was lifted easily off the stairs and wrapped in the safest, most beautiful pair of arms in the world.

~...~


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

~...~

The fire was contained to the eastern side of the school and a large part of the building was saved. Thanks to Dean, Castiel survived his ordeal and apart from a deep wound on his thigh and dangerous amount of smoke inhalation he escaped with only minor injuries. Brady, the apparent culprit, was apprehended after a statement was given from Jo and two other witnesses who saw the dancer sneaking across the grounds. His court case is still pending.

Garrison's generosity to the Colt welders was graciously returned once the repairs to the welding school had been completed and half of the ballet students were allowed to train there; Castiel and his friends were amongst the majority.

It was the middle of February, Castiel's cast was finally off, his thigh had healed perfectly and he was once again fighting fit. His relationship with Dean was also going strong and they rarely argued. Not about anything serious anyway. Maybe about trivial things. Who left the empty beer bottle in Castiel's bathroom for example.

However, one morning after practice Dean had said something that made Castiel think that perhaps they weren't on the same page like he had thought. It was when they were walking together to the cafeteria that it happened.

Castiel had asked him if he wanted to watch Pans Labyrinth, a Spanish film with English subtitles which Dean had never seen. And in response, Dean had laughed and said, "You sure I'd be able to keep up with that?"

It had been a joke, a passing comment, really, barely note worthy but there had been something behind it that had niggled at Castiel for the rest of the day. It stayed in the back of his mind, tickling his brain with its phantom itch. Therefore he decided that the best course of action was to ask Dean about it. How he was going to do that, however, was potentially problematic since he didn't know exactly what it was he was asking about. He would have to wait for the right moment and hope that the words would come.

In the meantime, he was going to continue as though nothing had happened.

"I hope you realise I'm only doing this because I love you," grumbled Castiel. He had to force himself not to keep his arms at his side and not around his body like he wanted to.

Dean was grinning. "Yeah, baby, I know."

Castiel huffed out a breath, blowing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Do you have to call me that?"

"You love it."

"I do not." Maybe he liked it a little but he wasn't about to admit that. At his boyfriend's continued assessment of Castiel's outfit, a slow blush began to creep up the dancer's face. "Can I take this off now?" Castiel whined.

Dean's grin was predatory. "Nah." He was lying on the bed shirtless, one hand behind his head, the other on his stomach, staring at Castiel like he was a piece of meat. "You look hot."

"I look ridiculous," said Castiel and he did! He was dressed in a baby pink tutu, pink panties under white tights, pink ballet shoes and a tight pink top with spaghetti straps. If anyone saw him, he would be absolutely mortified. "And I don't see the necessity for...for panties." He didn't see the necessity for anything he was wearing but the girl's underwear just about took the biscuit.

Unfortunately, Dean didn't see a problem with them. "Don't worry. I'll fuck you so good and hard you'll forget your own name."

Castiel exhaled shakily, his cock hardening. Licking his dry lips, he said, "Why don't you then?" he taunted.

"I will," said Dean confidently. "First I wanna see you dance."

Castiel balked. "Dance?" He looked around the bedroom. "There isn't enough space."

"Sure there is," said Dean, his grin widening. "Show me some moves. Show me how flexible you are." When Castiel didn't move, Dean raised an eyebrow. "I'm waiting."

Hesitantly and not without embarrassment, Castiel started off with a slow, controlled routine which had been a choreographed routine for Björk's Unravel. Castiel lifted his foot above his head and didn't miss the way Dean's eyes travelled the length of his thigh, stopping at the bulge in his pink panties. His body was humming with excitement, nerves, embarrassment and arousal. He liked having Dean's sole focus. All of that glorious attention was fixed on Castiel.

As Castiel danced, Dean's hand moved from his stomach to the waist of his pants, fingering the button. Even though he was wearing loose jeans, the line of his hard cock was visible and it sent lust driven shivers through Castiel.

Dean's eyes were dark, hooded; he looked impossibly sexy and all Castiel could think of was how much he wanted to be fucked, have Dean's cock thrusting in and out of his ass.

"Bend over," said Dean suddenly. His voice was rough, laced with the promise of sex. "That desk over there."

Castiel stopped dancing and quietly complied. He watched as Dean got up from the bed and stood behind him.

"Spread your legs," he murmured.

Castiel did so. He faced the hard surface of the desk, anticipation pulsing through him, his cock heavy in his panties.

A warm hand touched the lower half of Castiel's back. It brushed up his spine and was joined with another hand as they slid around Castiel's waist, slipping under his top slowly, grazing his belly button and up and up until they touched his nipples.

Castiel's steady breaths hitched. Dean's rough thumbs rubbed over and over in circles until Castiel was squirming from the ministrations and then he squeezed hard enough to hurt. Castiel gasped in pain.

"So sexy," muttered Dean and clutched Castiel's waist. Through the thin material of his tights and panties he felt the thick length of Dean's cock press against his ass. It rested, burning hot between his cheeks making Castiel's own erection throb with want.

Those familiar warm palms dropped to the dancer's thighs and slid up firmly to his hips where they paused under the tutu.

He felt Dean lean in close, his lips next to Castiel's ear. "I'm going to fuck you," whispered Dean and his right hand slipped under the double layer of the tights and panties to wrap around Castiel's cock, tugging hard. The movement had been so fast and unexpected it drew a shocked gasp out of Castiel. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that when you dance tomorrow you'll be able to feel it. When you move that tight ass of yours, you'll remember this and you'll want more." Dean's hand was relentless. He stroked viciously and unrestrained.

"Dean," panted Castiel onto the hard wood of the desk. His orgasm was closing in fast. "Dean, I'm going to come," he gasped, scrambling to pull Dean's hand away but his sweaty fingers only slipped over the back of Dean's wrist. His boyfriend persisted, jerking Castiel's cock fast and rough. It was too much. Castiel's climax raced to the surface and he came in a shuddering mess, shouting his release, his cock spurting all over Dean's hand and inside the panties.

"You make the sexiest noises when you come," said Dean.

While Castiel caught his breath, Dean's fingers hooked in his tights and underwear and he dragged them down just past his ass.

Castiel's heart was pounding so hard in his chest it was painful. He was hot, too hot, sweating all over as though he had just finished a work out session. Dean's hands disappeared from his skin for a moment. He heard the snap of a bottle and when his boyfriend's palm touched his waist, a cool, wet finger rubbed against his hole. Castiel shuddered, tilting his ass up and pushing back onto the digit.

"Fuck, Cas. Wish you could see yourself. So hot."

A finger delved inside and Castiel groaned openly, careless of the people who might have heard him through the thin walls.

"That's it, you like that?"

A second finger joined the one curling towards the place Castiel was aching for it to reach. His breath was pushed out of him when it did. Condensation was blooming on the desk as he panted, rocking back on Dean's fingers. Castiel loved, adored, to have his ass played with. It was his ultimate turn on and ignited his arousal hotter than anything else. Already his cock was hard and aching.

At the push of a third finger, a "yes" fell past Castiel's lips without his permission.

"Jesus," panted Dean, removing his fingers. Castiel heard the sound of rustling and a zipper. "I'm gonna have to fuck you now before I come in my fucking pants."

Castiel didn't even have time to plead before there was a blunt cock head pushing past the rim of his ass. He inhaled sharply. The slide in was slow and steady and seemed to go on forever. When Dean's hips were flushed with Castiel's backside they both expelled a heavy breath.

"Fuck me," groaned Dean. "You feel so good, so good."

Dean waited seconds, barely that, and then he was moving, short careful thrusts that swiftly morphed into strong snaps of his hips. He fucked Castiel like he had jerked his cock – hard and fast – and it wasn't long before Castiel was coming again and Dean was joining him. Castiel wished he'd had more coherent thoughts in order to hear the sounds Dean made when he came but his brain was liquid and the most he could do was sag on the desk while Dean pulled out of him.

Climbing out the ridiculous tutu, Castiel fell into bed beside Dean, naked. He was boneless. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep but his earlier worry which had plagued him during the day came back like a black cloud sailing in front of the sun.

Castiel rolled over onto his stomach, resting his weight on his elbows. He looked up at his dozing boyfriend from under his eyelashes, at the beautiful line of his neck, his straight nose, high cheekbones and soft lips. "Dean. . ." began Castiel hesitantly. The welder made a murmur of acknowledgement. "Dean, I. . . want to ask you something."

"Mm, yeah?"

"You know what I think of you. . . don't you?"

With his eyes still closed, Dean chuckled. "You think I haven't fully evolved yet."

"No!" said Castiel, perhaps too loudly. He blushed when Dean's eyelids fluttered open and he turned his head to look at him, frowning.

"I mean. . . I don't think that." Castiel struggled to form the correct words. He knew what he wanted to say, he just didn't know how to phrase it. "I know how good you are. How kind you are and. . ." Castiel took a deep breath. It was too difficult to explain what he meant without actually insulting him. He tried again. "I . . ."

"Cas," said Dean, smiling. "Relax. It's okay."

Castiel's eyebrows drew together, frowning hard. "But it's not, you think that I believe you're somehow less than me."

Dean laughed; a soft breathy sound that raised goosebumps on Castiel's arms. "Well, you have said it a lot since we first met."

"I know but that wasn't. . .At first I. . ." He sighed in frustration and Dean caught his hand, his smile softening. He kissed the dancer's fingertips one by one, brushing his lips over the delicate skin. "On the outside you're an asshole," he smiled cheekily at Castiel, his eyes twinkling. "You're a stuck up, pompous ass who seriously needs to throw his thesaurus away—" Castiel had to laugh at that, "—but underneath?" Dean rolled on top of him and Castiel wrapped his legs around his trim waist automatically, stroking up and down his spine. "Underneath you're naive but you pretend not to be, compassionate though you won't back down from a fight, strong to the point of being crazy, you're talented, loyal, beautiful. I know that because I get you, Cas. We understand each other."

"I never meant it, Dean."

"I know." His boyfriend chuckled. "You just say stuff to piss me off." He rubbed his nose against Castiel's. "'Cause you like pissing me off, don't you?"

"I'm sorry for the hurtful things I said."

Dean sighed. "Cas, you don't have say sorry to apologise. Words aren't everything."

Castiel's lips curved. "That's very wise."

"Mmm," said Dean, kissing a path down his neck. "Are you impressed?"

"I'm impressed that there's a dictionary on your shelf. Do you know how to use it?"

"If you don't shut the hell up, your ass is gonna get spanked."

"You can't even spell spanked."

"Right. That's it—"

Castiel yelped as he was flipped over onto his stomach. Dean's appearance in Castiel's life had been like a one man band stomping through a quiet library and he never thought he would welcome the noise so eagerly but he did and he still does.

~...~

THE END


End file.
